


Tangled Up in Stars

by suomifae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuban Lance, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Korean Keith, M/M, hints of galra keith, its focused on lance and keith but we'll get more of the other characters later on i promise, its not stated but pidge is a transgirl, keith is oblivious to everything and is just generally confused, lance is bi for keith but he doesnt want to say it, this was a oneshot and then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suomifae/pseuds/suomifae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Keith is not stupid, but he is pretty oblivious, Lance would, frankly, rather marry a table than admit he has any sort of feelings, Hunk threatens Lance with a knife, Shiro and Allura are concerned parents, and Pidge is filming the whole thing for blackmail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Go Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt mean for this to be so long??? but now i cant stop??? help m e (also there's going to be a lot of spanish in this later on bc lance is cuban but i dont know any spanish so if things are wrong please, please tell me so i can correct it) title of work and chapter named from the song "Tangled Up In Stars" by Stealing Sleep

Keith knew a lot of things. He wasn’t stupid. He _wasn’t_. But sometimes it felt like he didn’t know anything at all.

He knew facts. For most of his life they were facts about himself. Name: Keith Song (Formerly: Ji-ho Song). Mother: Soo-jin Song (Deceased). Father: Unknown. Date of Birth: March 27, 2043. Orphaned: age 5.

These were all facts he knew. Facts that traveled with him in a neat little manila folder from house to house to house. He never stayed long. He was temperamental. Moody. He never got along with anyone at school either and that reflected in his report card. They would kick him to the curb not long after seeing his grades and months after dealing with his shit attitude. Some of them would never call him stupid to his face, but he got the message anyway.

At fifteen he learned facts about the desert. The hard way.

He’d successfully run away for the first time in his life and he’d never been happier. Until he realized that running away into the barren wasteland of heat and rocks probably wasn’t the best idea. He learned that days were unbearably hot and nights were unbearably cold. He learned that mirages didn’t just happen in the Sahara, but everywhere it was hot enough and you were thirsty enough.

He learned how to make a fire if one was desperate enough. He learned where the best places to hide from the heat were. He learned that cactuses were very prickly but also that they held sweet, sweet water. He knew because he could watch. Watch the animals and see how they thrived. He wasn’t stupid. He _wasn’t_.  

He learned that miracles could happen. Even in the form abandoned old houses in the middle of the desert, blessedly close to a place with food and running water.

At fifteen and a few weeks he learned about the Garrison. The roundabout way.

He learned their guard schedule. When they rotated and when the best time to sneak past them was. He learned where the cafeteria was and how best to take what food he needed. He learned it was best to take a backpack full, enough so that he wouldn’t have to come back too often and up the risk of getting caught, but not too much as to arouse suspicion.

He learned to survive, quite easily, on his own.

He also learned that boredom could be deadly.

He wasn’t stupid but he was reckless.

At age fifteen, nearly sixteen, he learned that piloting was his favorite thing in the world and that it was very, very dangerous.

He learned that the Garrison didn’t notice when one of their smaller speeders disappeared into the desert. He learned brakes and gas and gears and that machines that roared to life under his guidance offered the best thrills.

He learned that crash landings were awful; hard ground, pain, dust and gravel scraping against unprotected skin, sticky blood, and most of all a broken speeder.

He learned it was much harder to steal things like a med kit from the Garrison because it was further in the depths of the base.

He was only caught once and by one person.

At sixteen he learned that Takashi Shirogane was someone to fear, to respect, and to ultimately strive to be.

Shiro had taken one look at the scared teenager he’d been, eyes wide, legs scraped and bloody, and thin arms clutching desperately at the first aid kit he held, and he’d only sighed and told him to sit down before he hurt himself.

Shiro tended his wounds, lectured him, pried out Keith’s entire life story through irritated grumbled and hisses. Shiro gave him the kit, gave him food and water, gave him a few spare clothes, and escorted him back to the shack in the middle of the desert all without ever alerting anyone else of Keith’s presence.

He learned that Shiro was a kind man, and that at age nineteen he had the capacity to care for a scrawny thief and teach him how to properly fly.

Shiro visited him often, bringing food and water and books to read. Keith learned to never argue with Shiro, first out of fear and then out of respect and then out of brotherly love.

He learned that Shiro, slowly, had become the brother he’d never had. The family he’d never felt he’d lost.

Shiro never made him choose to become a pilot but Keith never really saw any other course of action.

At age eighteen he joined the Garrison and learned a hell of a whole lot about how much he hated rules and teachers.

The last part he’d learned a long time ago in school but with the Garrison it was heavily reinforced.

Keith knew he was the best pilot in his class. Fact. He knew he was smart and he knew what he was doing. The trouble was that half the things he knew were learned by instinct and a lot of it disagreed with the supposed facts the Garrison wanted him to learn.

He knew how to pilot. And he knew how the Garrison _wanted_ him to pilot. He wasn’t dumb. He could put the proper answers down if he wanted. He knew what they were. He just disagreed with them on such a fundamental level that he refused.

His lack of subordination would only get worse. Especially after news of the failed Kerberos mission reached him. Shiro being touted as a dead hero was another “fact” that he disagreed with greatly, because he knew, deep down, Shiro wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

Keith also just didn’t know how to talk to people. It was one of the few areas he could admit that he was out of his depth. He could see people, how they interacted and how they bonded, he just couldn’t translate all that to himself. It felt like drowning in shallow water sometime, awkwardly flapping his arms and watching as everyone else enjoyed themselves above, because, really, _he_ was the only one having trouble standing up and joining them.

He didn’t like it. Which only made him moodier.

But he wasn’t dumb. So he just kept to himself. Created an aloof sort of character that could still get along civilly with his classmates, but was just hard to approach. It saved him the embarrassment of trying to understand his peers. Because he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He was socially inept, but that was okay. So long as they let him fly.

Then they tried to put him into a team. It didn’t work out so well.

He went against the rules in the simulator, going on instinct like he always did. It would have worked out, too, if one of the teammates he’d been assigned hadn’t yelled at him and panicked.

Max Fairfield called him stupid. Keith broke his nose.

That, apparently, had been the last straw for the Garrison and he was expelled. But, never ever because he was stupid. Just… Angry.

Then, at nineteen, he was out in the shack and alone again and he had to learn new things. There was no Shiro. No dream of being a pilot. No nothing.

So he learned new things. He started to feel the vibrations in the earth around him, a calling like something was coming. Something big. Keith wasn’t superstitious but he knew when to follow instinct. He wasn’t dumb.

He learned how to sneak food and water from the Garrison again. He learned how to begin to pinpoint the mysterious pull he felt in the middle of nowhere. He learned to narrow it down.

Then he learned about Shiro falling from the sky and crash landing back to earth. Not on purpose, but there none the less. He learned about Lance and Hunk and Pidge.

He learned about the Blue Lion.

He learned about the Red Lion. He learned about her and his place in grand scheme of things and it took his breath away. He didn’t yet know if it was a good thing or bad thing yet.

He learned about family.

So now, nearly twenty— at least he assumed, it was kind of hard to tell being in space and all, it kind of messes, really badly, with your sense of time— he could say that he knew a lot of things. That he, really, wasn’t stupid.

But sometimes it still felt like he didn’t know anything at all.

Mostly because of Lance.

He couldn’t grasp Lance.

He knew Shiro. How to talk to him, to communicate what he needed. Shiro understood him out of patience and habit. He respected Shiro and did as he ordered, because Shiro also respected Keith’s instincts. He never called Keith stupid and he never disregarded Keith’s crazy ideas out of hand (he would disregard them after careful consideration, which made all the difference because at least they were considered).

He could understand Shiro.

Hunk was even easier to learn to understand. The man thought with his torso. Which sounded weird but not really. Hunk thought with his stomach most of the time, Keith knew, could respect (how many times had he gone hungry? He knew the importance of food). But in battle Hunk thought with his heart. Keith didn’t understand that as well but he could respect it. Hunk was easy going and he readily dismissed any awkward things Keith did or said, sparing him the embarrassment and miscommunication. Hunk couldn’t decipher what he was saying as well as Shiro could but he at least put in the effort. Hunk was an easy friend.

He could understand Hunk.

Pidge was complex and Keith didn’t always understand her sarcasm, but she took pity on him most of the time. She would explain things if he asked. She was also a kindred spirit in aloofness. Keith avoided people because he couldn’t always understand them, Pidge avoided people because they just got on her nerves sometimes. There was more to it, for both of them (the way Keith stood out from other people oddly and the way Pidge just felt physically exhausted around people for too long), but they didn’t have a name for it or a way to fix it so they carried on as they could. Keith and Pidge got along as silent company and it worked. There were a lot of things about Pidge that Keith couldn’t quite get, but they meshed as a whole.

He could understand Pidge.

He could even understand Allura and Coran once he got to know more about them, once he stood back, observed, and learned. Allura missed her father and she acted as a mother hen for them all. Coran was like a weird Uncle that he’d never had but it seemed to work anyway. Allura was a force to be reckoned with and Coran couldn’t cook. He learned about them.

Lance, however, remained an unfathomable mystery.

Lance hated Keith, but he didn’t. Lance saw Keith as a rival, yet they were teammates. Lance made jokes and references that Keith couldn’t understand and it made Keith feel stupid, but Lance never called him out for it. Lance called his hair stupid and claimed he was the better pilot and said a lot of weird things, but he never said Keith was dumb.

Keith couldn’t hate Lance, because despite all their bickering and insults, Lance never threw anything his way with true bite. He also did nice things sometimes and he could begrudgingly give Keith compliments. But he still acted like Keith was his rival. Like Keith constantly challenged him.

Keith couldn’t understand it.

He knew he didn’t hate Lance. But he had no idea if Lance didn’t hate him. He couldn’t read regular people on the best of days, let alone an erratic guy like Lance in the middle of training for a space war.

So Keith knew a lot of things. He knew that space smelled like the acidic tang of hot metal in the desert. He knew the exact weight of his Bayard sword and how it felt in his hand; straight, twisted, and sideways. He knew that if you looked too closely at the stars that they’d blend together and swirl and you could get trapped in their mirage. He knew that their lions could purr.

But with Lance, it felt like he didn’t know anything at all.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith didn’t know what he was doing really. He was standing in the bathroom of his room in the Castle of Lions, staring at his reflection in the fluorescent-lit mirror. He didn’t have much else to do and he wanted to think. So he studied himself in the mirror and thought. Mostly about how the person across from him seemed a stranger.

His eyes were the things that bothered him most.

The shape of them, the slant and the narrowness, marked him as something he didn’t think he was deep down. They tied him instantly to a heritage and a culture he never got. Never experienced. He didn’t hate them, they just made him feel lonely.

What he hated was their color. What it meant. Because from a distance his eyes looked a normal black-brown. Dark that you couldn’t really tell the color but just assumed they were a very dark brown. But they weren’t. If you looked close enough and with enough anger, you could see the purple there. And even closer, underneath that, was a hint of yellow. It scared him. Reminded him of the purple tone of his skin his hand had turned in those fleeting moments he tried to forget.

He turned away from the mirror, the image turning hazy in his eyes after not blinking for so long, and he snatched his Bayard as he left for the training room. Keith may not be dumb but he sure as hell preferred things physical to mental. Fighting he could understand, existential crisises he could not. 

He didn’t care that it was something like three a.m. on the ship. Time didn’t matter in space, everything was relative, and he’d abandoned the thought of sleep hours ago. The paladins had all been given a free day tomorrow anyway, having worked on rescuing planets for _months_ now, so he knew he could spend most of it sleeping later. What he needed was a good training session where he felt like he was doing something useful and he could forget all the confusion and doubt and anger swirling up in his head.

Nothing felt better than acting out on the urge to punch something.

So he did. He punched and kicked and dodged and sliced, all to his heart’s content. No need to worry about forming Voltron, no need to worry about training, no need to worry about his team, and no need to worry about anything else at all aside from the burn of muscles, slickness of sweat, and the clang of sword against sword as he battled the training simulation bot.

Panting and with a pleasant ache in his muscles, Keith called off the simulator and let his Bayard sink back to its original form. He started his cool down stretches slowly, content, because for a solid hour he hadn’t thought about his reflection or about Lance. He had a clear head now and his limbs felt heavy enough that sleep didn’t seem like a distant pipe dream.

What he expected was to finish touching his toes and then head to the showers. What he expected was to catch a few hours of sleep before lounging around and doing nothing.

What he didn’t expect was for Lance to waltz into the training arena in his pajamas, take one look at Keith, and bury his head in his hands with a put-upon groan.

“What?” Keith snapped at him. He hadn’t even done anything! “I didn’t even do anything!”

“That’s the problem!” Lance said from behind his hands as he sunk down to sit on the floor.

Keith was baffled, like always. “Do you _want_ me to do something?”

“ _No!”_ Lance shouted, panicked, his hands splaying out in front of him and slicing down in a no type of motion. Keith assumed so at least, he could have just been flailing.

Keith didn’t say anything to that, just stared. Why was Lance always like this? He just wanted to take a shower at this point, thank you. Lance gave him a headache.

“So, what are you doing here?” Keith finally asked because it didn’t look like Lance was going to speak anytime soon and he wanted to leave but Lance was blocking the door.

Lance crossed his arms and looked mad. Oh, great, Keith _had_ pissed him off again, somehow. “I came in here to _train_ , but obviously I can’t do that now because _you’re_ here, stinking it up with your-,” he gestured vaguely at Keith, “your stinky sweat and stuff.”

Keith took offense to being called stinky because he couldn’t help it if he’d just finished working out but, whatever. He decided to poke the biggest hole in Lance’s explanation than fight him about being smelly.

“You came to train,” Keith said.

“Yes,” Lance replied with a decisive nod.

“In your pajamas?”

Lance sputtered. “No!”

Keith rolled his eyes, “Then why’d you come _here?_ To the _training_ room?”

Lance groaned and held his head in his hands again. “To think, I guess,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Keith said easily. He could understand that, he supposed. Not really, but, again, whatever.

Lance peaked at him from between his fingers and glared at him. Keith didn’t understand why so he just blinked back at him. He wanted to leave so he could shower but Lance was still sitting in front of the door and Keith didn’t want to deal with any awkward jumping over the guy. So, he stood there, probably even more awkwardly, and waited for Lance to move… or something.

“I don’t hate you,” Lance said eventually, spitefully, moving his hands from his face.

Keith was too shocked to really respond, his eyes widening and his arms going limp. What the actual fuck.

“I-,” Keith tried to mumble any sort of response, “I don’t- uh, hate you… either?”

“Good,” Lance said, picking himself up off the floor, “That’s good.”

Then he turned around and left.

Keith stood in the training room for what felt like hours after that, trying to process what in the hell had just happened. Well, at least? Lance didn’t seem to hate him anymore?

He ran a hand through his hair and finally managed to move toward the showers. He really needed some sleep.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance was a lot of things but he wasn’t stupid. Ridiculous, dramatic, and deep down insecure? Yes. Smart, strong, and really, really homesick? Hell yes. But he wasn’t stupid.

Space was doing weird things to him. Probably. Yeah, that had to be it. He was having… weird space feelings that made him do weird… space feelings things. Absolutely. 100%.

He groaned. Yet again. And held his head in his hands. His abuelita would have knocked his head with a wooden spoon by now and have told him to get his shit together. Maybe not in so many words (the thought of his sweet abuelita ever cursing made him laugh) but the sentiment would be there none the less.

He missed home.

If he were home he could have solved this problem ages ago. Someone in his house would have confronted him. His older hermana Maria would have sat him down and stared at him until he cracked. His little hermano Joseph would have stared up at him with those big eyes and asked him what was wrong. His mamá would have grabbed his ear and demanded he tell her what was making him so sad. His tío Elias would have knocked him over the head and told him to stop moping about it. His abuelita would have made him soup.

And oh, how old would Joseph be turning now? Ten? Hadn’t he just been five the other day? Lance wouldn’t know, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t know how long they’d even been out here in space, the days blending together and the stars all melting into some fragmented, never-ending day that stretched on forever. But he could still feel time passing, knew the earth was still spinning so far away, even without him on it. Joseph would turn ten without him. His niece, baby Sofía, would grow up without him. Might not even remember who he is when he finally finds home. If he ever does.

And that shoots a pain right through his chest, distracting him, momentarily, from any other problem he could have. What if his abeulito died without him? His heart was already so weak and he was getting old…

Lance didn’t want to think about it.

But he didn’t want to think about that awkward-ass meeting between him and Keith at four a.m. either. _“I don’t hate you”?_ What had he even been thinking? Why did he say that? Because Keith had been there, giving him this weird look and just waiting for him to say something and he had already decided he was done being angry at Keith for no reason and he didn’t know what else to say and-

Well, he’d kind of been distracted by Keith looking… _hot_.

This was new territory he did not know how to handle.

“Lance,” Pidge threw something at his head, probably a wrench, “would you shut up already, please.”

Lance, bored and in turmoil on one of their very few days off with nothing to do, had come to bother Pidge, who was not bored or in turmoil and _did_ have something to do, which they were way more absorbed in doing rather than listen to Lance be himself.

“But Piiiidge,” he whined, drawing out her name as he dramatically collapsed over her lap, effectively making her stop focusing on the tech she’d been fiddling with. “Fix my problems.”

Pidge snorted, “Which one? The homesickness or the being gay for Keith? Cause I can’t really fix either of those.”

Lance shot up from her lap with an excessive amount of sputtering and limb flailing.

“I’m not gay for Keith!”

Pidge gave him a flat look before returning to her techno work whatever, “You’re so gay for Keith it hurts.”

“But-But I like _girls!_ ” he protested. He was mostly stalling with this conversation, to be honest. It wasn’t the gay he had a problem with (have you _seen_ Shiro? Ever? In any situation? In any amount of clothing?) it was the _Keith_ part he had a problem with. Because no fucking way. No. Absolutely not, no thanks.

Pidge shrugged, “Then you’re bi for Keith. What do you want me to tell you?”

Lance grabbed them around the shoulders and whined, “That everything is fine and none of this is happening.”

“Everything is fine and none of this is happening.”

“Really?”

“Fuck no.”

“Pidge!” He cried as he released her, hand on his heart like he’d been physically wounded, “Language!”

“Go away then already, _mom_ ,” Pidge said, waving a distracted hand at him, not looking up from the laptop in front of her, “You’re gay for Keith and that’s all there is to it. Go bother Hunk if you’re still feeling weird about it.”

Lance harrumphed and gave a snooty little, “Fine,” before stalking off. He may have pretended to be huffy about it all but he knew it was also genuine advice underneath it all, Pidge couldn’t help him figure out his problems so she’d told him to seek out Hunk. Dysfunctional, but a family all the same.

He found Hunk in the kitchen, valiantly trying to find a recipe for something that tasted in any way edible and not like the bland green goo they ate every day. What an actual saint.

“Hunk!” He shouted as he sauntered into the room. “My buddy, my pal!”

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk greeted amicably but not looking up from his food-magic. Lance could hug him right then and there for not immediately telling him to leave. What did he do to deserve Hunk? “What’s up, space bro?”

“I-,” Lance said as he draped himself over the little island behind Hunk, “-have a predicament.”

“Bad predicament or good predicament?” Hunk asked with a wave of his knife.

“Bad predicament. Very bad. Ultra-mega bad,” Lance told the kitchen counter.

“Wow, that’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed, then changed the subject because whatever Hunk was trying to make over there smelled _divine_. “So… What are you making?”

“I am _trying_ ,” Hunk said with frustration, “to make a salad to go along with the meatloaf surprise in the oven.”

“Meatloaf… _surprise?_ ”

“Yeah,” Hunk said with a shrug, “It’s a surprise because even _I_ don’t know what kind of meat is all wrapped up in that. Also, it’s blue? Even though when I started it was a nice pink? I don’t really know, I’m an engineer not an alien specialty chef.”

“Oh,” Lance said, a little queasy now. Then he shrugged it off, Hunk may not be a professional but he knew what he was doing when making tasty things. _And_ he knew all the things and chemicals that would be bad for humans to consume after scanning all plant-life with a fancy scanner-machine he made, so that was a plus. “Alright.”

“So…” Hunk trailed off after a prolonged silence, as he chopped what looked like purple cucumbers, “What’s the problem again?”

“Pidge keeps saying I’m gay for Keith,” Lance whined, “But I’m totally not.”

Hunk set down his knife very slowly and then he turned around, very slowly, and then he looked Lance in the eyes and, very slowly, looked him up and down, examining him. It felt like Hunk was looking into his very soul. Then he nodded, like he’d discovered something he already knew was true, and turned back around to continue cooking, this time dicing orange lettuce-ish things.

“Pidge is right, you’re totally gay for Keith.”

“ _What?!”_ Lance shrieked.

“There’s no denying it, dude, you’ve been attracted to him since we were with the Garrison. You just haven’t realized it.”

“I have _not!_ ” Lance protested, desperately, “C’mon, Hunky, buddy, pal, I thought you were my friend. You can’t just- just _lie_ to me like that. It’s not funny, bro!”

Hunk stopped dicing again and turned back to Lance with a skeptical look. “You,” he said, pointing the knife in his hand at Lance for emphasis, “are so far in denial it is almost impressive. Now, get it together, man, and just admit you like Keith so you two can be boyfriends or whatever.”

“Hunk!” Lance yelled as he slammed his hands on the kitchen island, ignoring the sting in favor of the dramatic gesture, “There’s no way!”

“Yes, way,” Shiro said from the doorway. Still in his pajamas and with a mildly concerned look on his face, “Lance,” he started.

Lance wanted to groan and bang his head on the table but he refrained, only glaring at the glossy white of it as Shiro came up and placed a fatherly concerned hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not good to repress your feelings, you know. You’re just going to feel worse the more try to. Accept how you feel and talk it out. You’ll feel better.”

Lance hated to admit that Shiro was probably right and he should really follow Shiro’s advice but then he’d be admitting he liked _Keith_ and then his stupid feelings might just get _worse_ and then Keith would really, _really_ hate him (even if last night he said he didn’t) when he finds out and he honestly just wanted to bury these feelings and hope they go away. That was the best option in his book.

“No thanks,” he said petulantly, ignoring Shiro and running his finger along the smooth surface of the table. He regretted bringing up the subject at all now (even though it was really Pidge’s fault), if he was going to be cornered like this.

“Lance,” Allura said, just as concerned as Shiro sounded as she made her entrance from the kitchen door. Lance was just that much closer to actually hitting his head against the table. Repeatedly. At this point all he was doing was glaring at the table, and running his hand along the table, and fantasizing about head planting on the table. Maybe, at this rate, he should just marry the table and get it over with. Then that way people would stop trying to convince him he liked Keith, because obviously he was deeply and passionately in love with this table. Yeah.

“If you paladins are to work together, then you need to be honest with each other,” Allura continued as she fully entered the kitchen, standing on the other side of Lance and being too motherly for Lance’s comfort. “There are not secrets within the lions. Bottling things up will only make it worse.”

And, oh boy, did Lance just want to sink into the ground and never come back up. Maybe he could take his new table spouse with him. Make a nice little home underground where they would have room for their horrendous table-human hybrid children. Or maybe he was getting ahead of himself, he and the table hadn’t even been married yet! He needed to propose, find a nice table-sized ring, and meet the in-laws (would that be the dining room table and the stove? The fridge and the microwave? Any other odd combination of appliance?). One thing was for sure though, Allura wasn’t invited to the wedding and Shiro was only invited so he could give Lance away.

“Were all of you just lurking out in the hallway?” he asked the room in general, but not looking away from his soon-to-be fiancé table. “Ready to strike those that are vulnerable?”

“Nope!” Came Coran’s cheery cry from the opposite entryway of the kitchen, startling everyone in the room as he waltzed in. “I was waiting in the other hallway!”

“And the princess and Shiro are right, young paladin! You need to stop denying who you are and how you feel! Take the Quarternalian ridge-backs for example, they have complete and total honesty within their community and they do just fine! Might eat you if you look at them the wrong way, but still a very fine, functioning civilization none the less.”

“Eat me?!” Lance questioned, deciding to focus on the most important part of that speech. He hoped he never had to meet the Quarter-whatevers if they believed in brutal honesty and eating people.

“What about eating?” Keith said with a yawn and a scratch at his pajamas, as he, too, joined the little party going on in the kitchen (that Lance was pretending was a set-up for his dazzling proposal to the table, truly a fabulous celebration). “I hope that means breakfast.”

Lance’s brain short-circuited. No. Oh, no. No, no, no. They were not having this discussion with _Keith,_ here. He was not going to let them. Because, yes, Keith was so far oblivious of Lance’s crush ( _fuck_ , what was he going to tell the table?) but if the kept pressing this Keith would eventually find out and that was the last thing in the entire really huge universe that he wanted.

So, bidding a fond farewell to the doom-from-the-start relationship he had with the kitchen table, he immediately stood up and left. He really didn’t want to deal with this today. Or tomorrow. Or any day really. But especially not today.

So he sought out the one person who he knew would understand him. Blue. His lion.

She’d know what to do.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith was only mildly shocked but wholly disappointed when Lance ran out of the kitchen after he made he arrived. Figures. Lance, whatever weird things he said last night, still hated him. To the point, apparently, he didn’t even want to be neat Keith. Which made him sad and upset for reasons he didn’t understand. But then, that was normal with anything to do with Lance, not understanding things.

Nobody said a word and it made him feel even worse. Allura looked at him like she wanted to say something, like she was sad and she wanted to apologize. He didn’t recognize the emotion on anyone else’s face, but it was similar to Allura’s. He didn’t want to find out what it was. What they would say. Why they would be sad for him when Lance ran away.

So he ran away too, turning on his heel and stalking out of the kitchen.

He was done being confused. Done being kind of sad in this weird way that he didn’t understand. He was done trying to think it over and doing nothing about it. He was done with Lance being strange and avoiding him, hating him.

He was pissed. And he was going to do something about it.

Even if it meant punching Lance in his confusing, attractive face.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Blue didn’t know what to do. Of course she didn’t, she was a magic robot alien space lion, and while she was sentient in this weird, magic way, she couldn’t actually _talk_ to him and tell him what to do. Lance had kind of assumed she wouldn’t be able to fix all him problems instantly, but he felt a little disappointed anyway. All Blue could do was curl up around him and offer a purring warmth in his head. Which he appreciated because it took the edge off his loneliness at least. He draped himself over her metal paw (curiously warm instead of cold, but whatever) and laid down to sulk, gaze directed blankly at the blue fluorescent lights that ridged the walls. His arms fell around one of Blue’s toes in a loose hug and he thought about everything.

He hated feeling like this. Confused and frustrated and lonely. He wanted to scream it out, he nearly wanted to cry. The emotions just kept building up and swirling around in some awful nexus of generally bad things. He hated it all even more because it made him feel like he was overreacting. Honestly, here he was, in the middle of trying to save the _entire known universe_ from mass chaos and a dickhead dictator, and all he could focus on was missing his family and his _stupid_ little _crush_ on his mullet-headed teammate. How much of a tool could you be?

God, he was an idiot.

He buried his face in his arm and decided to stop thinking about his feelings. To bury them for another time. Instead he thought of concrete things. Things he knew. Facts.

He started with things about himself, because those were facts he’d always known and knew best.

Name: Lance Jimenez. Mother: Zamira Jimenez (nee Perez). Father: Adrian Jimenez. Date of Birth: July 25, 2043. Age: 20.

Or was it 21? Had July happened yet? How much time had passed? Days at least. Weeks probably. Months maybe. Too much time and not enough at all. It felt like time was slipping away from them, that Zarkon would always be one step ahead of them and no matter how long they took training, getting better, Zarkon was getting better at the same time. He had a 10,000 year head start and they couldn’t hope to _ever_ catch up. And every day, month, year, they spent out in space trying to save the universe was another day, month, year that he was away from his family, growing away from them, apart.

What if it took decades to defeat Zarkon? A millennia? What if it took so long that by the time he got back to his family that they didn’t recognize him?

What if _he_ didn’t recognize _them?_

_Oh god, oh Dios mío por favor NO_.

Lance clutched at Blue harder. His family was such an integral part of his life. He’d always been around _someone_ in his family. Always had big and little siblings to watch out for him and to watch out for. Always had tías and tíos and little baby primos. His abuelita had been his best friend for goodness sake. He’d told that woman everything. Bared his soul to her and she loved him all the same, always kind, always guiding, always _there_. Even when he’d gone off and left to join the Garrison they’d always been a phone call away. In reach. They’d sent him post cards and care packages every chance they got.

He’d never felt so disconnected from his family. It felt like he’d lost a limb.

Lance grew up in a medium sized house with a ten minute drive to the beaches of Varadero in Cuba, filled to the brim with family and loud strings of Spanish arguments. He grew up with large family meals and warm family hugs. He grew up never being alone, and it had been the _bane_ of his existence, especially through puberty, but he’d never known what lonely felt like. He grew up with problems like trying make sure everyone in the family had a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to put on their back. He grew up with fights against other kids that insulted his family, insulted his mamá.

When Lance was five he’d met his little baby siblings for the first time. Twins. Named Danny and Daniela respectively. And his mamá had leaned in real close and whispered to him, “Lance, mi hijo, you are a big brother now. You must take care of these babies and care for them with all your heart. Just like Maria cares for you and Manuel cares for Maria. You have an extra baby to care for because you are extra special.”

And he’d been awed, his tiny fingers being held by even tinier little fists. And he’d told said, “Yes, mamá, I will. Forever.”

It was his most vivid memory.

At ten he’d seen Danny and Daniela be given the same speech when Joseph entered the world. And he’d been proud.

At thirteen he’d been naïve and tender, discovering things about himself he hadn’t had names for yet, scared and timid. At thirteen he talked it out with his Tío Elias, kind and patient and the only one he’d ever told, aside from his abuelita. Only one he counted on in his family to understand that he liked girls _and_ boys. Tío Elias was married to Tío Zachary, he knew what it was like. He understood.

At fifteen and a half, exactly, he’d learned just how much he _loved_ to fly. That it was something he was _born_ to do. His oldest brother Manuel had shown him how to handle a hovercraft. It wasn’t fancy, in fact it was a very old piece of junk, but it _flew_ and that was all that mattered to Lance. The adrenaline rush had left him gasping for breath and laughing until he felt like he might die from the sheer joy of it all.

At eighteen he’d joined the Garrison with stars in his eyes and ambition pumping through his veins. He was going to be the _best_. He was going to show his mamá and his abuelita that there was nothing for them to worry about because he was the _best_ , the most capable, the most impressive. He would become the star pilot and he would shower them with the riches he earned doing what he loved.

At eighteen and a few months his dreams had come crashing down around his ears. He was not the best. He was not the star pilot. He wasn’t even second place. No, _Keith Song_ , held position of top dog with a ferocity he couldn’t even try to compete with. But oh, did he try. Just because the technicalities of piloting were harder than expected didn’t mean he was going to give up. His dreams may have been harder to attain but they were not impossible. He looked to Keith as a _goal_ , a rival to match in mettle. 

At twenty he was, in a way, abducted by aliens and chosen to save the world and universe at large. A task he was growing increasingly discouraged about ever achieving. A responsibility he never thought he’d have to be prepared for. And he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.

And then, then there was _Keith_. Another problem on top of another problem. He could admit, in the safety of his own head, that he probably had a crush on Keith. Keith was cute. He was strong and while he was kind of oblivious to things sometimes he was still smart. All of them were smart. But Keith knew things that didn’t seem obvious at all. He knew, instinctually, how to pilot in a way that took Lance’s breath away. Nothing was more amazing to watch then Keith go out and about in his lion on a leisure fly. It was exhilarating just to _watch_. The way he dived and swerved and looped about. It looked like fun and Lance was almost jealous, but he couldn’t be completely. Not with the grin Keith always sported when he came back from a successful flight.

No, it just made him _yearn_.

He wanted to make Keith smile like that. Wanted to make Keith laugh. Wanted, very badly, to just make Keith _happy_. He wanted to do all sorts of sappy things with Keith. Hold his hand. Hug him. Tell him how cute he looked when he had that tiny little smile on his face and the stars in his eyes. Tell him how hot he looked after an intense training session.

Just another toxic emotion churning around in his gut and squeezing his chest, compressing and sharp like ice in his lungs making it hard to breath.

He hated it. Most of all he hated that the yearning wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was the _fear_. That Keith would find out. That Keith would have a real reason to hate him. That whatever bonding they’d achieved as teammates would be thrown away with a careless whisper. He feared more than anything the rejection and disgust that was sure to happen. Because with as fucked up as Lance’s life had already become, it stood to reason it would only continue to get worse.

Lance hid his face in his arms and Blue’s comforting warm purrs and tried not to cry.


	2. And If We See You Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weba my pals r u ready to rOCK ???? shoutout to my awesome beta sebasent!

When Keith found Lance next to Blue he stopped short.

He’d been filled with a determined rage the entire time he was searching for his fellow paladin, but now… seeing Lance curled up in defeat and his lion trying to comfort him in any way she could… It was strange and sad and it twisted something in Keith’s gut he couldn’t quite acknowledge.

Keith stood just outside the entryway into the cavern that Lance’s lion was kept in. He was hesitating. He should leave. Let Lance sulk it out on his own. He should just turn around right there and go back to his room. Maybe train some more. Maybe find literally anything else to do.

But he wanted Lance to be happy again. He couldn’t understand Lance on a good day, sure, but at least a happy Lance was a _normal_ Lance. He didn’t like Lance being sad; he was even harder to understand than usual. He understood sadness, but not in conjunction to Lance. Lance was happiness incarnate, it’s what he felt around him underneath all the confusion and frustration. Lance made him want to laugh, even if he rarely showed it. Lance was endearing and associated with bad jokes. Lance’s obnoxious smile was nearly infectious and- Oh god, that was so gay.

Fuck. That was it. He was totally gay for Lance.

Fuck.

He was about to turn around right then and there but Blue called to him, catching his gaze and locking eyes. It didn’t matter that Blue technically didn’t even have eyes, he was still stuck in her gaze, stuck in the demand behind them. The plea. She wanted him to help Lance feel better.

Fuck.

Keith heaved a silent sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging through the thick silky locks. He repeated the motion, reveling in the texture, until he calmed down enough and found his resolve.

Right, okay. Mission: make Lance stop being so damn sad and ignore gay feelings for him because they were confusing and not what he wanted to focus on right now. Great. He could do that. Maybe.

One problem. Keith was not good with words and this was a words kind of situation. There was no punching his way out of this (well maybe, but that was probably a bad idea) so that left him with zero game plan and an increasingly insistent lion robot. Alright.

So Keith did what Keith did best: wing it and go on instinct.

“Lance,” he said quietly, walking closer and closer to where Lance was curled around Blue’s paw. “You… You okay there?”

Lance snorted but didn’t move to look at Keith, instead waving a limp hand and telling him with a raspy voice to “Go away.”

Keith frowned and crossed his arms. “No.”

Lance shifted and sat up to give him a fierce glare and say, “Not now, mullet-head. Leave me alone.”

Keith moved closer, coming face to face with Lance to again say, “No.”

Lance was silent, his glare even worse, and they stayed in a stalemate for a few tense moments before Lance finally gave in and said, icily, “What do you want?”

Keith shrugged because, honestly, he didn’t really know. Nor did he know how to answer. So he abandoned words and went with actions. He was so much better with those anyway.

He sidled over until he was perched on Blue’s paw next to Lance, shoulders touching and hips bumping. He felt Lance freeze and he was immediately upset, guilty, and resigned all at once. But he didn’t move, determined to see this plan through. Blue had insisted, after all.

“What’s up?” Keith asked softly.

Lance made a strangled noise and laughed, but it didn’t sound happy at all. “Nothing _you_ need to worry about.”

Keith glared down at the hands in his lap and started to play with the Velcro straps of his gloves. “Didn’t I already tell you last night?”

Lance looked over, skeptical and closed off.

“I don’t hate you, Lance,” he said. “I really, really don’t.”

Lance was quiet, subdued in a way that Keith was uncomfortable with. He wanted Lance to crack a joke, get up and laugh all this off, _something_.

“I never hated you in the first place,” Lance said after a while. “I’m just really bad at feelings.”

Keith bumped Lance’s shoulder, “Better than I am.”

Lance smirked, “True.”

Keith smiled at the other’s smug tone. That was more like Lance. He curled his legs closer to his body, sitting cross-legged on Blue’s huge robotic paw. His fingers skimmed the smooth metal, expecting it to be cold. Instead it was warm, and he got the impression that there was a strange kind of life thrumming under it, something soft and comforting. He hoped Lance could feel it too. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Hesitantly, but he asked all the same.

Lance glanced at him before frowning up at the ceiling. Keith had almost thought he’d made a mistake and that he should leave, until Lance finally responded, quiet and small.

“I miss my family.”

“Oh,” Keith said, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling too, not knowing what to say. “Uh, that’s rough, buddy.”

Lance snorted. “Dork,” he said, and Keith could’ve sworn he sounded fond. “I’m worried I’ll never see them again.”

“Oh,” Keith said again, remembering when he’d heard about the Kerberos mission failing and Shiro going missing. How, then, he thought he’d never see Shiro again, the only person he’d counted as family. He couldn’t imagine losing more than one. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Lance whispered back and Keith felt like he’d achieved at least _something_ , done at least _one_ thing right with Lance.

They fell into a semi-comfortable silence, both lounging on top of Blue’s spacious paw, a faint rumbling coming from the lion, filling the air and softly vibrating under their hands. It was nice, but Keith could tell Lance still felt sad, that he was still moping and falling into the pit of homesickness that kept taking over.

“What are they like?” he asked, both curious and wanting Lance to vent instead of bottle up.

Lance looked over, silent, skeptical, and opened his mouth to reply before snapping it shut again with a curious look on his face. Keith waited, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing and fucked everything up. He was very, very bad with people and it was always hit and miss when it came to interactions.

“Here,” Lance said, taking Keith’s hand and curling their fingers together, “I’ll show you.”

Keith was in too much shock to protest, his brain just helpfully short-circuiting with the feel of Lance’s hand entwined with his own. He was just thankful he had his gloves on, so if his palm got sweaty, Lance wouldn’t know.

“Blue showed me how to do this,” Lance gave a quick explanation, “Just put your other hand on her paw like this and then close your eyes.”

Keith did as instructed, his heart pounding and his cheeks heating up in a blush. He prayed Lance didn’t see it. Now was not the time to discuss how totally gay for Lance he was.

“Now, um,” Lance’s voice was strained, “watch, I guess.”

And he did.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance started out with a simple memory. One of his favorites, with his baby sobrina Sofía, or so the fuzzy thoughts that drifted over the Keith told him. It was shocking and fascinating; He could feel the soft amusement Lance felt in response to his surprise. What was even more fascinating was that Lance’s thoughts were laced with both English and Spanish, a simultaneous tumble of impressions of images. Whenever Lance thought ‘sobrina Sofía’ he also thought ‘niece Sofía’ as an instant, complicated translation.

“I grew up speaking Spanish,” Lance whispered out loud, his thoughts drifting over the same sentence anyway, “In Cuba. It’s what most of my family spoke, but in school I also learned English, so,” he shrugged.

“Oh,” Keith replied. He knew that when he was very, very young, he didn’t know English; CPS had told him so. But he’d lost most knowledge of his mother language, aside from one word. He didn’t say any of this to Lance, though, just watched the memory begin and unfold.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

Lance was dancing and laughing, soft radio music drifting into the room as he swung his hips and a small child clung to his leg. He was folding laundry in what looked to be a crowded living room, things haphazardly placed everywhere. Keith got the vague impression that the day had been hot, but he couldn’t exactly feel it for himself.

“Sofía!” Lance exclaimed with a laugh as he scooped the small child up. _She was only one and a half_ , Lance’s thoughts whispered, _shy but full of laughter if you got her in the right mood_. “¡Baila conmigo!” (“ _Dance with me!”)_

She squealed and giggled as Lance twirled around the room with her planted on his hip, and her little hands clutched at Lance’s shirt and her little feet kicked excitedly.

 _♫_ _Castellano, qué rico baila usted, (Castellanos, qué bueno baila usted), Qué rico y qué bueno y qué sabroso, Castellanos bailaba usted_ _♫_

The instant translation of the lyrics ran thought Keith’s head, but he was too busy feeling the phantom sway of Lance’s hips to care. A strange thing, to experience a memory in someone else’s eyes.

Lance set Sofía down on the floor and let her dance on her own, holding onto her hands and laughing with her as she clumsily moved about the room. She had freckles and happy hazel eyes, her skin tone the same tan as Lance’s and her hair a wild array of bouncing brown curls. She was adorable and Keith could feel the affection Lance held for her as a faint warmth in his chest.

 _♫_ _(Castellanos, qué bueno baila usted), Bailando en la pista todo el mundo, Miraba pa' los pies, (Castellanos, qué bueno baila usted)_ _♫_

“¡Lance! ¡Ten cuidado!” (“ _Lance! Be careful!_ ”) a female voice called from a room beyond his sight. Lance turned in the direction and called back, still within the memory.

“Sí, Vivi, tendré cuidado!” (“ _Yes, Vivi, I’ll be careful!_ ”)

“¡Tío! ¡Tío! ¡Baila!” _(“Uncle! Uncle! Dance!”)_ Sofía cried with a squeal, tugging at Lance’s pant leg with one hand and making a grabbing motion to be picked up with the other.

Lance chuckled, “Sí, sí, Burbujitas,” (“ _Yes, yes, bubbles_ ,”), he said as he picked her up and twirled her around again, “¡Bailemos juntos!” (“ _Let’s dance together!”)_

The memory drifted out from there and Keith could feel the longing and despair hiding behind Lance’s fondness for the memory. It made him long for something he’d never had before, never known. It was strange, but he could sympathize with Lance about wanting to see his family again.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

“She should be around five years old now,” Lance whispered.

Keith didn’t know what to say, just squeezed Lance’s hand in condolence. It could be many, many years (maybe never) until Lance could dance with Sofía again. Keith understood better now, why it was hitting Lance so hard. He’d lost much more than anyone else realized.

“Let me show you my abuelita,” Lance said, “I miss her the most.”

And Keith sat back and watched.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

The kitchen was warm and worn down, the soft yellow tiles faded and cracked in places, the white covering of the counters peeling and exposing dark wood. The appliances looked old and out of date and the curtain over the window was torn. Everything was large and a little out of proportion.

But the room looked loved none-the-less. This memory was slower but no less joyful. Sunbeams streamed from the window and lit up the room in white honey patches, sparkling off the metal of the sink and illuminating the weathered brown hands slowly peeling vegetables over the counter.

She was tall, or maybe it was the skewed perspective, and her face was lined with wrinkles and hardship, despite her small smile. Her hair was thick and pulled into a gray-brown bun. Her clothes were simple but colorful, draped around her shoulders and curled around her thin frame in bright oranges, soft pinks, and deep blues.

She stopped her peeling and glanced over where Keith observed the scene from Lance’s point of view. Her eyes lit up and her smile grew wide. She dropped the unnamed food and knelt down with her arms spread wide.

“¡Lance! Mi nieto! Ven acá.” (“ _Lance! My grandson! Come here.”)_ she called out to him and Lance ran towards her, small hands reaching out for a hug she gladly enveloped him in.

Lance’s thoughts whispered over to Keith, explaining. “I was seven, I think.”

“¡Abuelita!” (“ _Grandma!”)_ a young Lance cried, his face burrowing into the warm folds of her clothing. Keith could barely tell but he thought she smelled like spices and lemons. “Hoy aprendí un chiste!” (“ _I learned a joke today!”)_ he shouted excitedly, arms still clutching at his grandmother.

“Oh?” she sounded amused, kneeling back on her haunches and gesturing for Lance to continue. Keith got the impression that she was genuinely curious as well.

“-sabe inglés?” (“ _Do you_ _speak English?”)_ he started, and Keith could feel the struggle little Lance had to contain his giggles.

“¿Sí?” (“ _Yes?_ ”)

“¿Cómo se dice ‘un zapato’ en inglés?” (“ _How do you say “a shoe” in English?”)_

“¿A shoe?”

“¡Salud!” (“ _Bless you.”)_

“Gracias.” (“ _Thank you.”)_

The kitchen was silent for a few seconds as Lance’s grandmother took in the joke before she reared her head back and laughed, long and loud, little Lance’s uncontrollable giggles joining her.

“Nunca cambie, Lancecito.”

(“ _Never change, Lancecito.”)_

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

Lance didn’t say anything as the memory ended, feelings of bittersweet pain drifting over to Keith through their mental connection. Keith wanted nothing more than to soothe them away, but knew there was nothing he could say or do that would. Lance was hurting the most out of all of them about missing home, for good reason. His family had been his everything, Keith could understand that now.

He squeezed Lance’s hand. “She seems nice,” he said, “I’d like to meet her one day.”

Keith was nearly overwhelmed by the swell of warmth that Lance felt in response to his words. “Yeah,” he said, “I think she’d like you.”

Keith didn’t reply, drowning in the sudden happy emotions surrounding him.

“One more,” Lance said, “for the rest of mi familia.”

“Alright,” Keith agreed, his voice raw.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

Lance is lounging on a chair in his backyard, that’s the first image Keith gets. His eyes are closed in the beginning of the memory, so he takes in all the other details- the feeling of the plastic chair underneath him and the cool breeze blowing over him, as close to winter as it can get in sunny Cuba. Music is drifting out from a radio within the house and the soft chatting of lots and lots of people nearly drown it out. It’s all in an indecipherable Spanish babble, so many people talking at once: in the house, beside Lance in the yard, even friendly shouting from beyond. It all bubbles together. The sweet smell of roasted pork and spices is the strongest scent, covering even the smell of cut grass and beer.

Lance is 17 in this memory, half a year until he leaves to join the Garrison and the last major holiday he will spend with the entirety of his family.

 _Noche Buena_ , Lance’s mind whispers to him. It’s Christmas Eve in the memory.

Lance opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. The large amount of people, happy and talking, crowded around the small yard and even more packed within the house, all helping set out food for the feast or bringing in last minute preparations. Lance had originally been roped into help, but he’d slipped away with the excuse that there was simply no room for him. His abuelita had let him go with a laugh. It was half an hour until the feast and three hours until Misa Del Gallo ( _midnight mass_ ).

Lance’s present mind named all the people he observed, Keith soaking it all in as he watched the family with a distant ache.

 _Daniela and Danny_ , Lance pointed out a pair of twelve year old twins running about and laughing in the yard, _little siblings_. _Rosa_ , Lance looked over to an older woman that walked through the doorway with a plate of roasted plantains; she looked disgruntled and thin but she smiled when the twins ran past, _Lance’s aunt_. Manuel and his wife Vivi entered the yard together, Manuel holding multiple dishes covered in tinfoil or packed in plastic containers, Vivi with a giggling Sofía on her hip, _Lance’s older brother, sister-in-law, and niece_.

 _Elias, his husband Zachary, and their son Marcus_. Two older men and a boy about Lance’s age stepped out, the boy heading Lance’s way and doing one of those complicated cool-guy handshakes (fist bumps and explosion noises included), _uncle, uncle, cousin_. Maria, a woman a few years older than Lance, joined the family, catching the twins and scolding them for running around and almost tipping over the food table, _Lance’s older sister_. Joseph, a young boy bouncing behind Maria and jumping up to hug Lance and cling to him, _his little brother_.

And then the center of the family brought out the main course, four people all carefully moving out of the home with a roasted pig between them. Abuelita and abuelito, Lance pointed out the woman Keith had seen in the other memory and an old man that must be her husband. Mamá and Papá, Lance named the other two, a younger couple each with a striking mixture of Lance’s own features. It was the oddest part to Keith, seeing all these people that looked like Lance. He’d never had that connection and it was strange.

Lance let the memory drift off, ending it before he got too sad about it all. That was the last time he’d seen all of his family in one place. The last bit of happiness he clung to. It sounded dramatic but it felt true enough.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

They were both quiet, still basking in the aftereffects of the lingering memory.

“You miss them a lot,” Keith said bluntly.

“Yeah,” Lance said, shifting in place.

“I can’t-” Keith began, tripping over his words in his attempt to comfort Lance in his own clumsy way, “I can’t guarantee you see them again… But I still hope you do.”

Keith thought it was worth it when he peaked open his eyes to see Lance smiling at him, bittersweet, but still there.

“Your family seems pretty perfect,” Keith said with a sigh.

“They’re not,” Lance said mutedly, “We have problems just like any family. We don’t talk to my papá’s side at all. He doesn’t keep contact with any of them besides his little brother, my Tío Javier. We didn’t have a lot of money so we had to make a lot of hard decisions sometimes. And I- I used to have another older sister, Andria. She went missing when I was three.”

“Oh,” he felt like all the breath left him in that moment, “ _Oh_.”

“I just- I just don’t want my mamá to think she’s lost _another_ child.”

“She won’t,” Keith said firmly, lying through his teeth, “We’ll make it back. If nothing else then for your family alone.”

Keith made a last minute decision, not knowing whether it was because he wanted to share or because he wanted to distract. He just did it. He squeezed Lance’s hand and closed his eyes.

His own memory, the only one he had of his real family, drifted over to share with Lance.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

He was warm and he was happy, those were the foremost emotions surrounding the memory. He was young, four- nearly five- years old, and the memory was hazy around the edges with age. It was whispery like fog, not really settling into a full image. Faded and nebulous, but it was something he cherished. He could feel Lance’s surprise at being suddenly brought into this fuzzy world, but Keith was desperate to show him he could empathize with his pain. That he wasn’t alone, in a way.

Young Keith was cradled in his mother’s arms, the only memory he held of her, and they were warm and comforting. A gentle humming lullaby was sung right next to his ear, the words soothing but incoherent. He couldn’t remember what they were, what they meant, but he could feel that they were filled with love. He could feel her shaky breath against his ear as she sang low and quiet, he could feel her rocking his small body back and forth, he could feel the tremble in her hands. She smelled like linen.

“Ji-ho,” she whispered, her fingers running through his hair, “내 아들.”

(“ _My son.”)_

The only words he could remember.

She spoke more, murmuring things he couldn’t understand into his ear, but the memory started to fade there, drifting away and becoming a blank static, only leaving behind the vague impression of comfort and a great ache within his chest.

:*:。.:*:・'゜☆

Keith pulled back from the mental connection and opened his eyes to find Lance staring at him. Their hands were still tangled together, but neither of them bothered to separate.

“She died,” Keith said, his throat constricting and his eyes averted, “I don’t remember how.”

“Oh,” Lance replied, his turn to be at a loss for words. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed Keith’s hand and let his thumb rub softly over the back of it.

Keith blushed and returned the gesture, “Thank you.”

 “What happened after?” Lance started cautiously. “Did you not have any—?”

“No,” Keith cut him off, more nervous than defensive. People tended to pity him when he talked about things like this, but he wanted to tell Lance anyway. “I mean— I had nice families. People that were good and took care of me. But they never lasted long. I was— I was always carted off to the next one. No one really left a lasting impression. Except the mean ones.”

“Were you ever—?”

“I survived,” he said quickly, “It wasn’t too bad. Besides, I had Shiro to look up to as a brother.”

“Shiro?”

Keith nodded, “I met him when I was just sort of… hanging around the desert when I was younger, and he was like a big brother to me. He’s the reason I joined the Garrison.”

“Oh… That’s why you went to go save him and everything?”

“Yes.”

They fell into a sort of comfortable silence and unreality. Neither of them mentioned their hands still clutched together, and neither of them moved to change it. They sat facing each other and it seemed like nothing was real, like time had suddenly become irrelevant. They were both lost in thought, processing everything they’d just learned. Thinking about each other but not saying a word.

Lance was drawing nervous patterns on the metal of Blue’s paw with his free hand, his fingers dancing over the surface as he contemplated what must have been the entirety of the universe.

Keith watched him out of the corner of his eye, following the path Lance’s long fingers took and thinking about very little compared to the galaxies that could have been running through Lance’s head. Keith felt empty in some strange way, having shared his fondest memory, and yet at the same time he felt filled to the brim, bursting with new memories and thoughts and language. He thought about the love he could feel from Lance in all of his rememberings. He almost felt jealous; He’d had no family growing up and Lance had had an abundance thereof, but the hand still wrapped around his own and the warmth that’d been shared prevented him from that.

Keith had almost worked up the courage to say something, anything, because the silence was starting to make him nervous and he had no idea where all this was going. Nearly, because the moment he decided to open his mouth, Pidge walked into the room, saw them holding hands, and _smirked_.

Keith always knew Pidge was made of evil, but now he had confirmation.

“So Lance,” she called and Lance’s eyes were wide and frantic. Keith tried to frown hard enough to make her go away (it wasn’t working), “everything work out, huh?”

Keith had no idea what she was talking about, but he was pretty sure he should be afraid of that grin. Lance sure was.

“Shut up!” Lance shouted, sliding down from Blue’s paw and disentangling his hand from Keith’s. “Stop talking right now!”

Keith just stared at his hand, upset about the loss of Lance’s hand. He’d liked holding Lance’s hand, thank you. It felt very nice and Lance wasn’t acting like an asshole for once.

“What?” Pidge drawled, “Does Keith still not know you’re totally—“

 _“PIDGE!”_ Lance screeched, “¡Cállate! We are not talking about this! Ever!”

Now Keith was very, very curious. What was it that he was supposed to know that Lance didn’t want him to? What, exactly, was Pidge’s evil plan here? Why was Lance being so defensive?

“Are you sure? Cause I think he should know how big of a g—“

“NO!” Lance was suddenly running towards Pidge and dragging her out of the room, “Never ever!”

Keith could still hear his frantic shouting even as he dragged Pidge down the hall. Curiouser and curiouser.

He looked up at Blue. “That was weird.”

Blue huffed and gently nuzzled at his side, radiating an amused purr. Looks like he wouldn’t get answers from her either. He’d have to go searching for them himself. Seems like he’s condemned to a never ending game of hide and seek, with Lance doing the hiding and him doing the seeking, but that didn’t make him any less determined to find out what Lance didn’t want him to know.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance was panicking. “Pidge what the fuck!”

Pidged just scoffed, proving that she was a force of evil with a personal vendetta against Lance and everything he stood for, “Would you chill? It’s not the end of the world if Keith finds out you have a _super-duper ultra-big crush_ on him.”

“Shut up!” he whined, pleading that Pidge would get the memo already and shut her trap, dragging her further and further away. It definitely would be the end of the world if Keith found out and he wasn’t ready to die a mortifying death, thank you very much!

“Shut up!” Pidge mocked with a roll of her eyes, yanking her arm from Lance’s death-grip and walking on her own down the hallway. “Honestly, please tell Keith already so the rest of us don’t have to suffer from the sexual tension anymore.”

“There is no sexual tension! None! Nada! Zero! Zilch!”

“Now, you’re just being super defensive. Again, chill.” Pidge sighed. “I’m not gonna say anything behind your back, Lance, calm down.”

Lance eyed her warily, “Pinky swear?”

She solemnly held up her pinky finger, “Pinky swear.”

Lance locked his pinky around Pidge’s and gave it a firm shake. “Lock it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They pressed their thumbs together and sealed the deal.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he told her seriously.

“Whatever.”

“Now!” Lance cried cheerfully, “What is it that you wanted from the great magnificent me?”

Pidge snorted. “I just need my headphones back for a while.”

Lance deflated again. He’d kind of hoped Pidge would just forget to ever ask for those headphones back, he was a little dependent on them. It was so quiet on the ship, in space in general, and he was so used to noise in his life it was unsettling at times. Even in the garrison there’d been a hustle and bustle, guards patrolling the halls and Hunk snoring at night. But on the ship he’d not gotten a bit of sleep at first, because he’d been so disturbed by the quiet. Pidge had lended him her headphones without a word after he’d asked. It didn’t even matter that he had to listen to the same few songs on repeat forever, at least there was noise.

“What for?” he said as he attempted to casually put his hands behind his head as they walked back towards his room.

“I just need to be able to listen for interference on the ship’s radio, make sure it’s functioning properly and not just outputting static. We can’t help with distress beacons if we can’t hear them, after all.”

“Oh,” Lance dropped his arms, “that sounds pretty important, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed and gave him a look, “I’ll give them back in few hours, dude, no worries. I know you need them more than I do.”

Lance looked away, embarrassed that Pidge knew how dependent he was on her silly headphones, “Thanks, Pidge.”

“No worries,” she waved him off.

“For the rest of my days!” he shouted, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

Pidge snorted, “Do me a favor though.”

“What?”

“Get out of that cocoona matata you’ve got going on there and face reality, will ya? Seriously, just tell Keith you like him. We're all pretty tired of watching you pine for each other from afar.”

“Nope!” Lance said instantly, “Never gonna happen! This butterfly is never leaving his chrysalis, thanks.”

“I’m surprised you even know what a chrysalis is,” Pidge snarked, “Besides, you’re going to come out of there eventually and you’re going to emerge as a _moth_ , because we all know you only like to pretend you’re butterfly material.”

Lance held a hand to his chest and made an offended noise in the back of his throat, “Betrayal! Blasphemy! ¡Mentiras!”

Pidge just laughed.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith went looking for Lance. Or more, he meant to, but never got the chance.

Pidge, while scanning the airwaves in space to make sure their radio was working, had caught a distant distress signal and, by virtue of their title of Defenders of the Universe, it was their job as paladins to answer it and save the day.

Keith didn’t know if he was relieved or annoyed. One the one hand, it felt awkward to bring this all up right after the moment he and Lance had shared and on the other hand he was extremely curious about what Pidge had mentioned and Lance didn’t want him to know. He’d been going back and forth about it, strategizing the best way to ask and get answers, for quite some time before they’d all been called onto the main deck to be debriefed.

The curiosity was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, amplified tenfold because it all concerned Lance, the fact that Pidge knew and he didn’t, and the fact that Pidge, apparently, thought he deserved to know. Did this secret involve him then? Why did Pidge have such a shit-eating grin? Why was Lance so panicked? It just didn’t add up.

All these clues sprawled before him like a puzzle, a mystery, just like the one he’d been trying to figure out with the lion in the desert. Clutching at details and attempting to piece them together with red string after red string. The only problem with this mystery was that it involved humans and not fate, they were infinitely more complicated to Keith and that much harder to understand.

He hadn’t the first clue as to how to unravel it all so he needed more hints. He’d have to confront Lance about it. Or Pidge. Probably both.

But later. Now, he had a mission to carry out with his team, and that was supposed to hold top priority with them all.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

“Paladins,” Allura began, her accent curling around her words and her tone a deadly sort of serious, “Pidge has informed me of a distress signal emanating from the Garados Galaxy, the planet of Jaerlik to be specific. It is our job to help them if they are in need and liberate them from Zarkon if they are trapped. I need not warn you that this might be a trap.”

“It’s always a trap,” Hunk muttered. “You can never, ever trust the distress beacon.”

“Yes, Hunk, we are all well aware that the last few signals we encountered were false and set as a trap, but please, there’s still a chance that they are an innocent people in danger and they need our help. As defenders of the universe, we must answer their call and give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Alright,” Shiro said, moving to stand next to Allura and look more closely at the map swirling around their heads. “Where is it and what are the people like? Do we have a plan of action yet?”

“Yes, we do!” Coran piped up. “We’re going to sneak in like a leaf-finned haeydrin, greatest hunters of their galaxy, asses the problem then possibly, hYA!” Coran shouted, making a chopping movement with his arm, “If it’s needed.”

“So, recon first and attack later?” Pidge asked.

“If needed!”

“Right,” Shiro said, “How far away is it?”

Allura didn’t respond at first, looking troubled. She pulled up the map and spun it around without a word. “It’s quite far,” She said as she stopped the map, zooming in on a planet ringed in red, pulsing in time with the distress signal. “And it’s the closest to your home we’ll have been.”

The room was near immediately draped in a heavy silence, piercing and brimming with anxious tension. Lance’s thoughts automatically switched to his family, how close they would be. Keith’s thoughts also leaped towards Lance’s family, worried about how far they would still feel to Lance. Hunk thought about his own family, his parents and his siblings, wondering if they thought he was dead. Pidge thought about her mother. Shiro thought about the family he’d made and began weighing the pros and cons of them returning home, even if for a brief few moments.

“How close?” Shiro broke the silence.

“32 billion light years,” Allura said gently, “in your distance measurement. Still very far, but… closer.”

“How did we get a distress signal from that far away? Aren’t we like, 456 billion light years away from Earth in the first place?” Hunk questioned.

“How do you know that?” Lance interjected.

“I did the math, Lance.”

“There’s math for that?!”

“There’s math for everything, dude.”

“Oh yeah, can math measure the size of this d—“

“ _Lance!”_

“DAZZLING PERSONALITY!”

“We received the distress signal,” Allura said sharply, “thanks to a combined effort between Hunk, Pidge, and Coran’s tinkering with the radio. It also helps that the people of Jaerlik have such advanced technology that the span of their signal is far beyond the average. Seeing as they are also on the edge of Galra territory, we want to get there before Zarkon can. So long as it’s not a trap in the first place.”

“We’ll hop through a wormhole to get closer,” Coran said, twirling his mustache, “and then creep along until we can tell if it’s a trap or if there’s genuine distress. And then hYA! We either take down the trap or fix the problem!”

“Who are we saving, then?” Shiro asked, switching focus so they could get as much information as they could before they were thrust into the thick of an unknown situation.

“The people of Jaerlik, generally pleasant or incredibly hostile depending on which hemisphere you’re dealing with. Aaand we can’t pinpoint which hemisphere it’s coming from so good luck, paladins!”

Everyone groaned.

“Alright everyone, get to your lions so we’re ready to go after the castle makes the wormhole jump,” Shiro commanded, already heading towards his lion drop off.

“What about home?” Lance asked, voice small and eyes pleading. “We’re close enough aren’t we? It wouldn’t take much to just hop on over, would it? Just for a day? An hour?”

Shiro studied Lance for a moment, quiet like stone before he dropped the hammer, “We’ll discuss that when the mission is over. Helping others comes first.”

“But-“

“Leave it, Lance. Get to your lion.”

“Fine,” Lance snapped, shoving his helmet on his head and storming off.

No one said a word as the mission went underway.

 


	3. You'll Get Tangled Up In Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B))))

 No one spoke over the comms. For once, despite how low-risk this mission seemed, there were no jokes passed back and forth. There were no casual conversations or silly arguments clogging up the lines like was usual of even the more serious missions. Everyone was deep in their own thoughts, wondering, worrying.

Lance stewed in the cockpit of his lion, Blue sending out gentle purrs and curious chirps, trying to get Lance back to his usual self. Lance was always the one to break awkward moments, Lance was always the one to chop through the tension and help everyone relax with some stupid quip. But not today. Not on this mission.

He didn’t speak at all, anticipation causing his stomach to knot and his hands to clench around the controls in a vice grip. Fragmented memories of his family floated through his head and it was all he could think about, _home, home, home_. It was selfish- they were on a mission after all- but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to see them again, his family. He’d never been this far away from home. So desperately, hopelessly far from home. He wanted to scream about it, but he held it in.

He waited and he hoped. Even if it was only an hour, only one minute at all, if he could see his family again he might be able to keep on fighting for their sake.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Shiro and Allura were speaking over a private comm line, separate from the other paladins, going over their options.

“Is it possible?” Shiro asked quietly. Hoping, that for the sake of the team, the answer was yes. He didn’t want to watch them all fall apart over this. Especially Lance. It’d be good for all of them to at least see their family one more time and say their goodbyes, if they had to.

“Possible? Yes,” Allura answered, just as softly, her voice crackling just the slightest over the radio, “Advisable? Not as much.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro tapped his fingers along the edge of the controls he was holding. “You saw what happened when Pidge wanted to go after the Holts. If the rest of the team don’t at least get to _see_ their families, we could have another break down on our hands... and I don’t think Lance will last much longer without them,” he added softly.

“I know,” Allura sighed. “But the risks far outweigh the benefits. We can’t let them go, not if you want the fate of Earth to be the same as that of Altea. I can’t condone another tragedy.”

Shiro was silent a moment, absorbing her words. “What, exactly, do you mean by that? There’s no sign of the Galra this far out. They shouldn’t be a threat here.”

“I wish that were true.”

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

 When they reached the planet it was barren. Desert. Completely devoid of the Jaerlik people, or sentient life at all. The distress signal was the only thing still running, built to last, the red light in a sand-encrusted building still flashing like an abandoned lighthouse.

Allura informed them all that Jaerlik had always been a desert planet, but not with nearly as much sand. There could still be survivors, hidden away where their scanners couldn’t reach, but she highly doubted it. Now that they were closer, they could date the distress signal, and the outlook was grim. It’d been activated hundreds of years ago.

When the paladins landed on the empty planet it was with mixed feelings. The sun was beating down upon them, hot and heavy, and they felt like all purpose they had in being there was gone. A quick scan from the castle revealed that no one was there, alive, save for them. It was a feeling nearly equivalent to having a rug pulled from under their feet. There was no fight waiting for them here. There were no people to save.

It wasn’t even a trap.

Just sad. No one had come to help these people of the desert, and they’d perished in a planet-wide drought. At least that’s what they found; documents, left in the empty tower alongside the beacon and, once translated, had told them so.

Coran solemnly told them that the ancient Jaerlik people had long since dried up all their water reserves and had started to depend quite heavily on trading precious metals and gems with other planets to survive. Zarkon must have unknowingly taken out their allies across the universe and with them, all their sources of water. With no one to supply them with water they’d begun to die out, unable to face the harsh climate of their planet without it.

The distress signal had, most likely, been their last hope.

Hunk was the one to finally shut it off, hand solemnly resting on his chest in a prayer of farewell. Pidge examined it in hopes of finding more answers, any answers. Shiro paced the floor, deep in thought. Keith thought he knew what the planet must feel like, abandoned and lost. Lance was far too mixed up about everything to decipher how he felt. He just wanted to go home. _Home, home_.

“Paladins,” Allura’s voice broke over their comms quietly, “I think it’s time to return to the ship. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“Alright, everybody.” Shiro stopped pacing to address the group. “You heard the princess, let’s go.”

“No,” Lance said softly, his emotions swirling up into a tight ball of anger and defiance, “What about Earth?”

“Lance-” Shiro tried to mitigate, tried to stop the outburst before it escalated. But it was too late, the floodgates had opened.

“There’s no one here! The mission is over! So we can visit Earth now, right? It’s too close not to!” He pleaded.

“We need to get back to the castle first,” Shiro said calmly, “Then we can discuss this.”

 “We _need_ to visit Earth!” Lance was shouting. “I _need_ to tell my family that I’m okay!”

“I never said we weren-” Shiro started with a placating gesture.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Lance spat, “I know you’re going to say no. I know you’re going to say that it’s ‘all for the best’. That it’ll put too much at risk. But I call _bullshit_ , you just don’t want to let us go _home_. You’re too afraid that we’ll leave the team if we do, eh, _Capitán_ _Cabrón!_ ”

“Lance!” Hunk sounded offended and hurt all at the same time. “You’re going way outta line, man.”

“No.” Shiro crossed his arms and stared Lance down. “He’s right.”

“ _What?”_ Pidge hissed.

“I _was_ going to say no,” Shiro intoned, still deadly calm and serious. “I _am_ going to say no. Because there _is_ too much at risk.”

“What _risk?_ ” Lance shouted. “No one made it out this far! There’s nothing stopping us from _going the fuck home!_ ”

 “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Shiro said calmly, “but there are Galra ships approaching in the distance. They tracked us here. They’ve _been_ tracking us.”

The room fell silent, thick with fear and tension. Even Lance could feel the anger drain from his chest and settle in his stomach as a rock of dread. Realization spread throughout the room. They’d drawn them out here, close to home…

No one protested when Shiro continued his speech.

“They followed us here.” The words fell heavy from his lips and sliced through the atmosphere. “They weren’t going to bother with this planet, but then _we_ showed up. Voltron. We’re too important, too flashy, to ever get away with sneaking off somewhere and expecting the Galra not to follow,” He looked out the window and to the distant sand dunes, “They’ve had our coordinates for a while now.”

The room was still silent and no one dared to move, as if everyone within had been frozen solid.

 “We’re responsible for this, for bringing them _here,_ so close, and I don’t want to be responsible for Zarkon finding our home planet. They’ve been far too close for comfort already. They abducted me from _Kerberos_ , after all, and I don’t want to give Zarkon any sort of incentive to get any closer to Earth. And I especially don’t want to give him a reason to go after it.”

His voice turned soft, ending his speech and speaking directly to Lance. “It’s the only way, Lance. We’ll see them when it’s over.”

“Don’t you want to keep your family safe?” Keith pleaded hoarsely, breaking the tension like a fist through glass, “Sofia and your abuelita? Don’t you want to make sure they don’t get hurt?”

Lance exploded. “OF COURSE I FUCKING DO!” He nearly screamed. “ARE YOU SAYING I DON’T, _PEDEJO?!”_

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Keith threw his arms up in frustration. “I’m saying you need to think about what’s _best_ for your family!”

“I’LL SHOW _YOU_ WHAT’S BEST-!”

“Lance!” Hunk shouted, sharply this time. “Meu amigo, seu precisa se acalmar.”

 _“¡YA ESTOY CALMADO, CABRÓN!_ ”

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” Shiro roared above them all. “Everyone get back to your lions and head back to the ship. _Now_.”

Lance, looking angrier than anyone had ever seen him- his face screwed up and tan skin turned red and a deep icy hurt that froze within his eyes, sharp and unyielding- left the room with stiff shoulders and clenched fists. Silence reigned over the room and each paladin held their breath as they watched him go.

Keith bowed his head and let the shadows hide his pain. He walked out of the room just as stiffly as Lance had, arms crossed over his chest in an act of defiance, but with the way his shoulders slouched forward it only looked like he was desperately trying to hold himself together.

The rest followed, just as silent, each moving toward their lions and no one speaking as they made their way to the castle. They slipped through a wormhole, back to the other side of the universe, without ever having to face the Galra fleet. They left without a fight, without a word.

Shiro had been prepared for Lance to rebel, for him to rocket off towards Earth in his lion despite their warnings. He’d been fully prepared to chase after Lance and stop him, in any manner necessary but without hurting him, and he’d been resigned to having to talk Lance down if he had to.

But he didn’t have to.

Lance went back to the castle without a word and everyone could tell he was still seething in anger. But he still went back to the castle. He locked himself in his room, but he never left.

Shiro didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

 Keith was sitting on the couches, curled up with his knees against his chest and staring at nothing. He’d fucked up. With good intentions, to be fair, but that didn’t change that’d he’d fucked up. That he’d hurt Lance. That Lance wouldn’t come out of his room and Keith was partially to blame. That Lance, even if he hadn’t hated Keith before, would probably hate him now.

“I fucked up,” he whispered into the crook of his arm.

“Probably,” Pidge said dryly as she leaned over Keith’s shoulder and startled him into a heap on his back. She snorted before throwing herself over the top of the couch and sliding down the cushions to lie next to him, her hands holding up her head and her legs kicking up in the air. (Keith was mostly impressed she was able to keep a straight face the entire time, looking first like a small monkey and then like an uncaring slug, like she did this all the time and it didn’t look awkward as hell.)

“I didn’t mean to,” he said sullenly as he sat up to face her, pulling a knee up to his chest and resting his head on it. He was grateful for the company, even if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Yeah,” Pidge conceded. “But you still fucked up. Lance is pretty pissed.”

“I know,” Keith sighed. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Pidge shrugged. “Fix it.”

Keith glared at her and her all-too-blasé attitude. “Okay, but how?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “Ask Hunk, he’d know more.” She gestured to the couch on the other side of Keith.

Keith turned to find Hunk sitting there fiddling with some sort of machine and nearly jumped out of his skin. “Fucking Christ, when did you get here?”

Hunk pointed a screwdriver at Pidge, “I came in with her. I was told I was needed as reinforcements.”

Keith turned back to Pidge and narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to tag team me?”

“Is it working?” she asked.

Keith slumped back into the couch and crossed his arms. “I dunno. Hunk, do you have any good advice? Pidge is kind of useless.”

“Hey!”

“Well,” Hunk started, dropping the machine, robot, whatever, to the side and rubbing his chin, “You could start by apologizing. You probably meant well, but you kinda crossed a line.”

“I know,” he said. And he did know. He really did. At the time he’d just been so desperate to make sure Lance _stayed_. To make sure he didn’t go off on his own and get himself hurt. He also didn’t want Lance to leave him, and he hated himself just a little for it. He said what he thought would make Lance understand, make him stay.

“Not that Lance didn’t either, he said some pretty nasty words,” Pidge added.

“He was angry,” Keith said quietly.

“And you felt desperate. Emotion doesn’t negate action,” Hunk said seriously, “You both deserve apologies.”

Keith didn’t say anything to that.

“So say you’re sorry,” Hunk huffed, “Talk it out. I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to work it all out.” Hunk shared a look with Pidge that Keith didn’t quite get, so he ignored it. “Just sitting around sulking’s not gonna get you very far.”

“Yeah.” Keith ran his fingers through his hair and slumped further into the couch. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could just sink into the cushions and become one with the white space-leather, and then he’d never have to deal with people or emotions ever again. Much nicer fate than dealing with Lance’s ire. Or saving the Universe, for that matter, even if that was the easiest out of the two.

“So, Hunk,” Keith started after a small moment of silence, in which Hunk had picked up his machine again and Pidge had pulled her own tech from what was probably a secret infinite pocket on her person somewhere. “You speak Spanish too?”

“Portuguese,” Hunk answered distractedly, more occupied with twisting a bolt in place, “My dad is from Brazil so my sisters and I picked up the language pretty quickly at home. Some of the words are _kinda_ the same in Spanish, so it works to get Lance’s attention when he’s angry, but,” he shrugged, “usually I only speak it around family.”

He paused and huffed a laugh. “The first time Lance and I tried to talk to each other in our languages was actually pretty funny because we could barely understand each other. We ended up saying cat back and forth to each other ‘cause it’s the same word.”

“Oh,” Keith said, amused at the thought of Hunk and Lance having an entire conversation with just one word. “I didn’t know that. That’s cool.” He turned to Pidge to continue their impromptu bonding session. “Do you know any other languages?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes in thought for a moment before saying, slowly, “Ja… Ich kann… kleine Deutsch sprechen?”

Keith blinked at her and even Hunk looked up from his work, “What was that?”

“German,” Pidge admitted, rubbing at the back of her head in mild embarrassment, “I learned it in high school… And that sentence was about all I remember of it. It wasn’t exactly useful so I never tried to learn more of it.”

“Hm, you never know,” Hunk said thoughtfully then grinned, “might meet some cute German-speaking aliens out there, right?”

“Oh, shut up!” Pidge managed to find a pillow to throw at him. “That doesn’t even make sense! The automatic translators are set to English anyway, you doofus!”

Keith laughed along with Hunk at Pidge’s expense before the other two turned on him with curious looks.

“So?” Pidge drawled.

“So what?” Keith stalled.

“ _So_ , do _you_ know any other languages? C’mon and share with the class, Keith.”

Keith fumbled for something to say. He knew one word. One deeply personal word connected to a memory that he’d only ever shared with one other person. He wanted to share, wanted to join in. But it felt like too much, too painful somehow.

He looked away. “No.”

“Aw,” Hunk said as he gave a comforting pat to Keith’s shoulder, “Well, hey, maybe you can learn some cool alien language?”

Keith froze, trying not to think about the flash of yellow deep within his eyes, and laughed the comment off as casually as he could. Which was not casual at all. Hunk and Pidge shared another look but they decided not to say anything, for which Keith was grateful. He didn’t know what he’d tell them if they did.

Eventually they settled down into another comfortable silence. Hunk went back to tinkering, Pidge went back to meddling, and Keith once again tried to become one with the couch.

It was a rather comfy couch, after all, and it was much better to contemplate its cushions rather than dwell on his emotional problems. Keith wasn’t stupid, never, he was just happily in denial. Maybe he could marry the couch. That didn’t sound too bad. He would be committed to this couch and this couch alone, they would share a sacred bond. Now all he needed to do was find a ring big enough for squishy cushions and then find someone who would be willing to marry him to the couch. In space. Hm.

Pidge gently stabbed him in the side with her finger, startling him enough that he flopped over on his back across his soon to-be-husband sitting up and glaring at her. She just grinned and waved.

“You gonna get up and go to Lance already or are you gonna continue with your broody teen angst shit?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he grumbled as he finally extricated himself from his oh so comfortable fiancé (when did he propose?). He patted the leather in a farewell gesture, knowing it was probably a doomed relationship from the start. Now he had to face his real-people problems with real-people consequences and try not to explode in the process.

“Do something about that UST while you’re at it, please? It’s clogging up the air vents, it’s so strong.”

Keith turned back to face Pidge where he’d almost been out the door, “U… ST?”

Pidge gave him a devilish grin, her eyelids dropping and her fingers laced under her chin, she looked smug and self-satisfied in a way that scared Keith. “Unresolved… _Sexual_ … Tension,” she slowly drawled out, adding “with Lance,” for good measure.

Keith grit his teeth and tried not to let his face turn as red as his lion, failing miserably he just turned around and hightailed it out of there. Pidge could fuck off. He didn’t need to resolve sexual _anything_ with Lance. Even if… Oh god, _oh god did he want to_?

He fled towards the training room instead of Lance’s room because he needed to fight off the embarrassment, physically, before he could ever work up the courage to try and talk to Lance.

 _Fuck_.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

 Lance was pacing in his room, back and forth and back and forth, like a hungry lion prowling the perimeter of its cage, waiting for any opportunity to strike should anyone come too close. He needed to work out his anger, his frustration.

How _dare_ Keith imply that Lance would put his family in danger like that? How _dare_ he think that Lance was stupid enough, reckless enough, to let his need to see them again outweigh their safety? How _dare_ Keith think so lowly of him, think that Lance needed to be talked down like a child just because he was angry?

Sure, he’d made some dumb decisions before. Lots of them probably; he didn’t always think things through. But he would never put his family in danger like that, he’d never, ever want to lead the Galrans straight to them, straight to everyone on Earth. He wasn’t an asshole. He fucking knew better, alright?

He clenched and unclenched his hands as he paced, hoping it would relieve some of the white hot anger still coursing through his veins. It didn’t. He was far, far too agitated. Mixed up. Shaken. He wanted to _go home_ , dammit. He wanted to see his family again and he _couldn’t_. There was no way, not until Zarkon and his fucking empire were taken care of and, and, it just seemed like such an impossible task, unachievable, unattainable, that it felt like a death sentence. He would die trying to protect the world from Zarkon and then Zarkon would destroy them anyway.

And even if, even if they _did_ succeed, even if they beat the odds, beat Zarkon, he was nearly a hundred percent sure that they wouldn’t make it. They were martyrs waiting to happen. So even if they won, even if they were able to protect the universe, he’d still probably leave behind his heartbroken mamá. She’d still have another child _gone_. He didn’t want to break her like that. He just wanted to tell her he loved her one last time. To let her know it wasn’t her fault.

He pushed that thought away. It hurt far too much.

And then, his thoughts drifted to the thing that was nearly always on his mind and he felt like gasping for breath, there was _Keith_. There was _always_ Keith. Lance had called him nasty words. Lance had lashed out. And he knew he should feel sorry, but at the moment he didn’t. Because he was _hurt_. Keith didn’t trust him, didn’t think he was competent; he’d proved that by the way he thought he had to plead to make sure Lance didn’t do anything stupid.

Considering how he felt about the other (how _infatuated_ he was) it felt like a punch in the gut to realize what Keith truly thought of him. He hated it. He hated Keith. (He didn’t.)

Everything he was feeling just translated into anger. Making it worse, spiraling.

He just. Wanted to stop _thinking about it_. Thinking about everything.

He needed Hunk. Or Pidge. Or anyone he could really crack a joke with. Laugh off his frustration, hide it beneath humor. He needed to ignore it all.

But he couldn’t think of any jokes. He was too angry. He’d snap. He didn’t want to do that to his teammates.

So he paced.

And it was getting him nowhere.

It made him feel more caged, more confined. Like his only option was to pace, and pace, and pace. Like his room was a prison cell. Like he’d been sentenced to death. Which, in a way, he had been.

He hated it. Everything. _Himself_.

He stopped. That wasn’t true. He leaned his head against the wall. He was proud of who he was, where he came from, and, even though it felt like a hopeless endeavor, he was proud of what he was doing. Saving people. Hadn’t that been one of the many reasons he’d joined the Garrison? To protect? His papá had been so proud of him, and so he was proud too.

He couldn’t think straight.

He needed to do something more productive. Something that didn’t require thought, that could be mindless. That would make him not so angry anymore.

Training.

He could punch something and he could not think about it.

Win/win in his book.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith took solace in training, in fighting. In sweat and muscle and pain. He appreciated the _burn_ , in his legs when he ran, in his arms when he parried, and even in his hands where they flexed and gripped his sword and shield. He could focus far more solidly on action than on thought. There was nothing here but the fight. There was no yelling, no chaos, and no ever-present _confusion_ to cloud his thoughts. There was one opponent. One fight. And the drive to get better, stronger. To make sure his actions _could_ speak louder than words.

He dodged the gladiator, sliding down near to the floor to duck the swing of its sword, and popped back up behind it, his thighs and knees aching with the movement. He reveled in it. He blocked a swipe of sword with his shield and watched, nearly fascinated by the shower of sparks it created. He spun, he dodged, he ducked and deflected. The same actions over and over, beating themselves into his muscle memory, but they never became monotonous. Not with the simulator. They fought in real time, real action, real response and adrenalin.

Keith was panting when the simulator stopped. “Start training sequence level six.”

And again they danced, faster and with more force.

Keith was reveling in the fight, all of his mixed up emotions fading into the background as he concentrated more the moves he would need to execute and the motion of the simulation, trying to study the pattern and beat it. Then came the hiss of the doors as they slid open behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Lance growled when he entered the training room, making Keith jump and nearly have his head sliced off by the simulator.

And here was the last thing Keith had wanted to happen. He’d come down to the training room to avoid Lance, avoid thinking about how he could apologize (because, if he was being honest, he didn’t have the first fucking clue on how to do it), and avoid literally everything else in the world. His breath caught just the slightest at the sight of Lance and he hated it. He had no time for feelings, they needed to stop right now. 

 “What’s it look like?” Keith grumbled back, concentrating more on his opponent so he wouldn’t have to face Lance and have his gut twist at the sight of how mad he was. He was almost (very) afraid that an apology wouldn’t even cut it, that Lance would just be mad at him forever.

“Whatever,” Lance spat, moving around the main arena where Keith was fighting and activating the shooting range on the other side.

Keith grunted as he dodged a blow and warded with his Bayard. Dammit, he needed to _apologize_ to Lance, not make him angrier. _Fuck_.

“End training sequence,” Keith commanded, watching as the gladiator disappeared in a shower of holographic sparks. He deactivated his Bayard and walked over to where Lance was shooting down moving targets, steeling himself and hoping Lance didn’t try to shoot _him_.

He watched for a moment. Watched Lance move and duck and shoot. He looked strange without his heavy jacket. There was nothing to hide the bare muscle he’d now built up in his arms. And Keith watched, hyper-aware, as they moved with every shot, absorbing the recoil and moving to aim at the next target with deadly precision.

And Lance really did have deadly precision. Keith watched target after target explode in a shower of holographic sparks near seconds after they appeared. Lance still missed on occasion, and cursed when he did so, but he was no amateur with a laser gun anymore.

Keith watched Lance’s brow furrow in concentration, watched his hair stick up on end when Lance ran a frustrated hand through it. He watched Lance move, fluid and graceful.

When Keith fought, it was a vicious dance. When Lance fought, it was watching a river in motion. Flowing and rapid. Sword fighting and gunfire were very, very different things but Keith could still very much admire his skill.

More than he probably should. He needed to apologize to Lance. That was his main priority. He could deal with his gushy awful feelings later.

“Lance,” he called, hiding his clenched fists behind his back. He was nervous.

Lance ignored him.

“ _Lance_ ,” he called again.

“ _What_ ,” Lance hissed back, his shot going wide and his finger slipping on the trigger as he turned to face Keith, narrowly missing him with his blaster.

Both of them froze. Silent and completely still in the aftermath of the millisecond action. Neither of them fully processing what just happened, but both of them fully aware of the horror of it.

Keith suddenly couldn’t breathe, the heat from the blast searing his cheek and narrowing his world to that sensation entirely, the shock of the moment allowing nothing else. It felt like he’d been sliced with a knife and his skin stung to an unbearable degree. His retinas were on fire from the white hot light of the blast passing so close to his open eyes and he felt blinded and burned. Time slowed as he took in everything all at once, nearly crumbling to the floor with the suddenness of the pain filtering through.

Lance broke the moment with the sound of dropping his Bayard to the floor.

“Keith-,” Lance almost sounded broken.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” Keith shouted, clutching his cheek. He couldn’t believe this was happening, that this had happened at all.

“My _problem?_ ” Lance said roughly, latching on to something other than shock and guilt and pain. “ _You’re_ the one that wanted my attention so badly you interrupted my training!”

“And you fucking _shot me!_ ” Keith roared, pain translating into anger.

“I didn’t _mean_ too!” Lance was shouting back, “What the fuck were you doing so close, anyway?!”

“Are you trying to blame this on _me?!_ ” Keith yelled as his face twisted in incredulous fury, “I was trying to talk to you, asshole!”

“About what?!” Lance flung his hands up. “What was so _damn_ important?!”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Keith hissed. “It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

Keith, still clutching his cheek, stalked out of the training room in a rage, his legs feeling slightly weak but he didn’t care. Forget Lance, forget apologies, forget _everything_.

“Keith!” Lance called after him and Keith ignored the fact that he sounded anxious, desperate, because he didn’t care anymore. “ _Keith!”_

He left.


	4. Then We'll Stitch You Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like its been so long!! so sorry it took so long but school decided to tackle me full force ;;^;; But!! without further ado... the last piece of Tangled Up in Stars!

Keith liked watching the stars. They were quiet and steadfast and infinite. He could lose himself in thought when he gazed at them. Though, day by day, as they became the only view around him, he was starting to grow sick of them. They reminded him of home in a roundabout way. Not that he had much connection to that lonely distant place. He used to watch the stars from his little shack in the desert and he’d dream of joining them somehow, first in a want to explore and then in want to rescue. It was the place he’d been the closest to calling home because it was the longest he’d ever spent in one place.

But watching the stars from so close, being completely surrounded by space, felt nearly like suffocating rather than like the freedom he’d imagined.

There was nowhere to go in space.

On Earth it was much easier to pack up and run, to leave and never look back. He could simply choose a direction and run for it. Here, in space, there was no escape. They would find him, they would track the lion down and  bring him back. He couldn’t run without being a coward. Despite the vastness of everything around him, there was nowhere he could escape from consequences here.

So he stood by the window of the castleship and he merely watched the stars, ignoring the clear reflection of the pathetic boy still clutching at his cheek with the yellow glint in his eyes, and he watched the ship tailing them in the distance.

Slowly and sedately, they were being followed by the Galra.

It set his teeth on edge to think about it, but he just continued watching. Watching and thinking.

The fear induced by his reflection was shoved to the back of his mind. He would not think about that yellow glint, he would not think about the purple hue, he would not think about the father he never met and the potential of having extraterrestrial origins.

He was human. His name was Keith. He was a paladin of Voltron. And he was a fucking idiot.

He let his forehead rest against the cool glass of the window and groaned. Would he ever get the chance to just sit down and have a conversation with Lance? Would this just be an endless cycle of fucking things up between the two of them? And right after they’d had that moment. Right after they’d well and truly bonded. Then he had to say something stupid and then Lance had to _shoot him in the face_. But he really couldn’t be that mad at Lance. Which was the idiotic part of it all.

He could never stay mad at Lance. Not when it was an accident and not when all he wanted to do was put everything behind him and just _see Lance smile again_.

Because, oh, did he love that smile.

Lance was handsome, though Keith would be hard pressed to ever tell that to Lance’s pretty face because he would never hear the end of it if he did. Didn’t make him any less good looking, though. If you looked close enough, Lance’s eyes were a beautiful deep shade of blue. They weren’t startlingly bright or comparable to gemstones or any other nonsense like that, but they were still Keith’s favorite shade of blue.

It was overwhelming; his feelings. He liked Lance. He liked Lance a lot and he didn’t quite know where the feelings even came from. They just… _were_. Lance amused him. Lance was cute. Lance was always the one to get him riled up and involved with the group rather than stand around in the shadows. Lance’s smile took his breath away. Lance was sweet and brave and he may be an idiot sometimes but he was still just… _Lance_.

And this was how Keith knew he was in deep.

A guy shoots him in the face and moments later he’s still back to being head over heels for him.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it all. About the pain in his chest and the tightness around his lungs. About the future and looming war. About what he might be if he wasn’t human. About anything. He’d find Lance later and they would _talk_ and everything would be settled and maybe they’d at least be friends again if nothing else. And then he’d try his damnedest to get rid of his silly little crush and everything would be okay.

He looked up, back into the depths of space trailing behind them as they drifted, and spotted the Galra ship still floating on behind them. Never speeding up, never slowing down.

It felt like an omen. But what it meant he couldn’t be sure.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the footsteps approaching him until a voice called out to him.

“Keith?”

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance was freaking out.

Which was honestly an understatement but he didn’t really know how else to explain it. It was like every inch of him had simultaneously started panicking and then gone into shock. All at once. His mind was blank and filled with nothing but the feeling of disaster. Fear.

His Bayard slipped through loose fingers as he watched Keith disappear through the training room doors. The smell of something burnt still filled the air as he called out for Keith. He didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want him to be so hurt. If he left he might never come back.

The clang of his Bayard hitting the ground made him rear back into awareness. He stared down at it in disgust. In shame.

He kicked it, watching with detachment as it skittered across the smooth tiled floor. He wanted nothing more than to break it. He wanted to rip it apart. Maybe then he’d never use it again. Never use it against a teammate, a _friend_ , like that ever again.

He sank to the floor and held his head within his hands.

He couldn’t think straight. What in the _fuck_ did he just do? His head was spinning from the torrent of emotions and thoughts flooding his system all at once. He was mad at Keith; supposed to be, at least. But then he _shot_ him. But it was an accident. But he _shot_ him. _Keith_. He’d just wanted to talk. About something important. And all Lance had done was _shoot_ him and oh, _Dios mío_ , everything was falling apart.

_“How could you do something like that, Lancecito?”_ His abuelita would say. She would have been furious with him. For shooting Keith. For being so angry in the first place. For being careless. For sulking like he was now instead of working to fix it.

He was furious with himself.

“Lance?”

Shiro was standing in the open doors of the training room, looking concerned and stern all at once and Lance couldn’t stand that look. He just shook his head and hoped Shiro would leave. He was still trying to process everything and figure out what to _do_. He didn’t need Shiro’s condemnation. Every footstep he heard from his leader only made him want to panic more. 

“Lance,” Shiro said again, this time much closer, and Lance wanted to flinch. “What’s wrong?”

Lance didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. Now more than ever he just wanted Shiro to go away. He couldn’t handle any of this.

“Lance,” Shiro said more firmly, crouching down to try and face him, but Lance just avoided his eye. “What. Happened.”

Lance, stubborn to a fault, still refused to reply. He might break if he did. And what would he tell Shiro? _I just shot the guy I have a really big crush on? The same one you treat like a little brother? You know, our teammate? I may have just fucked up irreparably and we’ll never be able to form Voltron again because I shot a paladin?_

Shiro sighed and settled on the floor beside Lance, just sitting next to him and silently waiting. It only made Lance feel marginally better. But better none the less.

Lance’s feelings were still a whirlwind of shock and panic and disgust and anger, and he still couldn’t sort through it all to understand what to do. To understand how to fix it. Everything just felt like too much. But Shiro just sat through it all with him. Quietly, patiently.

“I shot Keith,” Lance murmured to the floor and waited. Shiro didn’t even move.

“Would you like to elaborate on that, or leave me thinking we’ll need a replacement paladin? Because I think it’s going to be pretty hard to find someone else to pilot a space lion.”

Lance laughed weakly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate the joke. Because that shot may very well have been _fatal_ if he’d just been that much closer. Oh, mierda, he could have _killed_ Keith. He lurched at the realization, tears forming at the corner of his eyes and a hand clutching at his mouth. He felt like he was going to throw up. He could have _killed_ Keith! _¡Mátalo!_

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Breath.”

And Lance’s breathing did slow, just enough to be considered a normal rate, but he still stared off into nothing, his thoughts come to a near halt. He didn’t want to think about it, so he thought of nothing. Static.  
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Shiro prompted.

“I-,” Lance didn’t know how to articulate what to say. He didn’t feel like he could articulate _anything_. Especially not his thoughts. “I _shot_ Keith.”

“I gathered that,” Shiro said slowly, calmly, “Can you give me more details, though?”

“I don’t…”

Shiro sighed. “I know you and Keith have this rivalry thing, but I don’t think shooting him is the answer…”

“But I don’t!” Lance burst. “That’s the _problem_ here! I don’t… I don’t hate him at all…”

Shiro hummed at the response and just took in Lance’s reaction before saying, “Personally, I think it’s a good thing that you don’t hate him. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you either. But since you don’t hate him can you tell me why you shot him? I would also like to know if we have a murdered pilot on our hands.”

Lance groaned, finally being pulled out of his static state of mind by Shiro’s amused tone of voice, “Not funny, man. It was- It was an accident.” He shrugged despondently, arms moving to wrap around his knees. “He wanted to ask me something and I turned around and I… It skimmed his cheek.”

Shiro hummed, hands moving to rest behind his back as he leaned to look up at the ceiling. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I still _shot_ him, Shiro! Right in the face! He’ll never trust me ever again and everything is _ruined_ and- and I turned my own gun against a _teammate_ , Shiro! I-”

“Alright,” Shiro interrupted, placing a firm hand on Lance’s shoulder, “Breathe. Everything will be okay, Lance.”

“How can you _say_ that?” Lance asked pitifully. “I _shot_ Keith.”

“You keep bringing that up, yes,” Shiro looked him in the eye as he spoke, kind and understanding, “But it was an accident. It _was_ an accident, right?”

Lance nodded.

“Then what you need to do, instead of sitting here and freaking out, is to go find Keith and _apologize_. There’s a lot going on between you two and you need to resolve it. Talk it out. It’s the best you can do.”

Lance buried his head in his arms again, sulking and taking deep breaths before sighing, “Okay.”

“Good!” Shiro gave him a firm clap on the back before standing up. “Hopefully you two will finally kiss and make up and we can all finally have some peace and quiet around here.”

“Hey!”

Shiro laughed and ruffled Lance’s hair. “I do hope that things can be settled between you two,” he said warmly, “If not for the sake of the team, then for you at least.”

Lance smiled weakly, “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Anytime, Lance.”

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

“Princess,” Keith said mildly, greeting her politely but not with any sort of enthusiasm. He wanted to be alone.

“You’re hurt,” she replied, gesturing to Keith’s cheek but not making any other move. She looked curious.

Keith’s hand fluttered up to trace along the still stinging burn, but he didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded and continued his vigil of the star-scape and didn’t let his eyes move from the Galra ship still floating behind them.

Allura followed his gaze with a frown. “I apologize for keeping secrets,” she said softly, a hand coming up and touching the thin glass that separated them from the infinite blackness of space.

Keith shrugged. He was too deep in thought of everything else to care much about Allura not telling them the moment the Galra started tailing them. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal in any case, it’s not like the Galra had _done_ anything. Yet, at least. He trusted her enough to know she had her reasons.

“There are… _other_ secrets that I feel should come to light, as well.”

Keith tears his gaze away from window at the hesitancy in her tone. He wonders what she means, where this conversation could lead. Keith may not be very forthcoming with details about himself, but he’s not a man of many secrets either. What other secrets could Allura be hiding from them all?

“Do you know of your origins, Keith?” She said without looking at him, eyes still watching the ship in the distance.

Keith felt ice shoot through his veins, instantly feeling the dread seeping into his bones and the riot in his stomach. This conversation had already taken a turn for the worst. “No.”

She glanced at him, “No? Curious… I was hoping… Well.”

“Well, what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Well…” She trailed off as she turned to face him fully, eyes filled with guilt and concern, and he wanted to walk away in that very moment and never look back. “I was hoping you might confirm my suspicions, but I suppose now _I_ am the one that must break the news to _you_.”

“What _news_?” He barely restrained himself from shouting. He felt desperate. Whether to know what she meant or to forget it all, he didn’t know.

“I…” she hesitated again. “I apologize for spying and such, but… The mice… And I couldn’t help but notice…” She struggled to put it all to words and it only succeeded in making Keith tenser, driving the ice in his veins to further dread and twisting his stomach into further knots.

“ _What_ ,” he felt like he was begging, “do you mean, Princess?”

“Galra,” she said quickly. “You may, in part at least, be… Galran.”

Keith remembered the flashes of yellow and the purple skin and he turned away from her. His breathing was hard and he felt like he might me trembling, but he couldn’t be sure. He brought a fist up to the glass and he wanted nothing more than to punch through it and to escape into the far reaches of space. But he didn’t. Even if he could, he didn’t. He just leaned into the cool glass and tried to stop his racing thoughts. He wanted to ice in his veins to turn to fire, but he would not let them.

“The mice have noticed things,” Allura continued, her voice much softer and her eyes back to watching the distant ship. “They were the first to tell me Pidge was a girl. They also told me of Shiro’s nightmares and Lance’s homesickness. Hunk as well, how he spends his late nights finding recipes in the castle kitchens. None of you, for some reason or another, seem to sleep very well.”

“And what did the mice tell you about me?”

Allura was silent for a moment, eyes downcast as she thought. She turned then, to look him head on and tell him forthright. She wasn’t one to shy away from something. “They told me how your skin turned purple when it touched quintessence. Something that is supposed to bring out the very _essence_ of someone’s nature. They also told me how you stare at your reflection quite often, and how you turn away when your eyes glint yellow. They’ve heard you growl, like Galrans do. And I’ve never heard you speak of you family before.”

Keith felt his hands clench into even tighter fists. These were all things he’d already known. Already seen. Already _suspected_. They didn’t have to mean anything and he’d so easily dismissed them before, so why did they sound like so much damming evidence when Allura brought them forth as facts?

“My mother was human. I remember her,” he said quietly to the stars behind the glass. “But I never knew my father.”

He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of his arm. “And I couldn’t just be half of any _other_ alien in the entire universe? Do I have to be part Galran? Part _monster?_ ”

“Keith!” Allura reprimanded. “You are no monster! You are a paladin of Voltron! Part of the noblest cause there could ever be! You would not have been chosen to pilot if you were not worthy. Just because you have Galran blood does _not_ mean you are any less a paladin. I’m sorry I had to bring you such distressing news, and I further apologize for not have any confirmation of it, but I need you to know that you are not any less a part of this team than you were before.”

Keith did not move at her words but he listened to them nonetheless. He didn’t know how to feel at that moment so he decided to pretend that he wasn’t feeling at all. He wanted to shut down and run away rather than face whatever seemed to be going on with his feelings. It all felt like too much all at once, and even the incident with Lance just hours before already felt like a distant memory.

“Thank you, Allura.”

He turned and left without another glance, giving in to his urge to hide and run away.

He wanted to time to both think and not think, and pretend that everything was alright.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

When Lance went looking for Keith he spent hours scouring the castleship to no avail. He’d checked the infirmary and noticed that nothing had been moved or touched; he took some bandages and burn cream with him just in case. He’d checked Keith’s room, Keith’s lion, the kitchen the main lobby, the main hallways, the observation deck, and he’d even circled around and checked the training room again. He checked every possible place he could think of, every place Keith might want to hide, and he’d even checked everywhere else aside! But Keith was elusive and didn’t want to be found.

Lance decided that if Keith wanted to be lonely soup, then he’d just have to let him stew.

But even that brilliant pun couldn’t cheer him up from worrying. He had so many things to talk about with Keith; apologies, assurances, and confessions. He just hoped that he hadn’t ruined everything between them already.

It went on like this for days…

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith was holed up in his room. That much was now obvious. But none of the paladins knew _why_. Lance blamed himself and their fight. Shiro suspected that might be a factor, but he couldn’t be sure. Pidge and Hunk didn’t care too much about the _why_ , so much as the _how to get him out_.  Allura was the only one to know the truth of the matter and she didn’t dare betray a secret Keith would need to reveal in his own time. Coran just hoped Keith was getting enough to eat.

All of them, in their own way, tried to cajole Keith out of his room. Bribery and threats were met with silence. Everything else also seemed to fall on deaf ears. They knew he was in the room, the castle itself had confirmed that in its own magic-science way, but still he refused to open up.

Lance leaves food for him every day, but he never quite builds up enough courage to knock.

The food is always gone by the next time he comes around though, so that gives him some hope.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith is one bundle of screaming emotions that he can’t really untangle and he doesn’t think he has the energy to unravel the clusterfuck anyway.

It’s frustrating, to say the least.

He thinks he might still be in shock. About the Galra thing. He never thought he’d have to face the truth of it, thought he’d never have confirmation. He’d hoped to live in denial about this for much, much longer, but it was probably better to have faced this now rather than later. Allura said she pulled it from hints the mice had given her, but the fact that she’d drawn the conclusion of Galran at all told him the likelihood of it being true.

He was borne of the enemy. There was no denying that now.

He’d always wondered at that feeling buried deep in his chest. That thrumming sensation that told him he just didn’t belong, that everyone else was strange and the planet he inhabited was alien. He’d always contributed it to foster home hoping, but it had persisted even when he settled in his little desert shack. It had persisted still even when they’d all launched themselves into space. He thought, maybe, it was just him. Or that it wasn’t. He’d nearly hoped it was a feeling everyone just felt and never spoke of.

But now he knew.

He felt alien on earth because that’s what he _was_. Everything always felt strange around him because it _was_. He feels like he doesn’t belong, like he’s a monster, because that’s what he _is_.

The yellow glint in his eyes is not a mistake, it’s part of him. A dirty secret telling everyone in the world what he really was.

And he was afraid, more than anything, about what everyone else would have to say about it.

Allura had already confirmed that he still had a place as a paladin, but he couldn’t help but doubt that. No one would trust him once they knew, no one would ever look at him the same way. They’d never be able to form Voltron again, not while he’s still a paladin. And all because of his biology. All because he’d finally found out he was a monster.

He’d ruined everything without ever trying.

He’d always wondered why Red had been so stubborn about accepting him as her paladin. It was because he never deserved it in the first place.

And what would Lance think? Lance had already shot him once on accident, and if he found out… Keith couldn’t stand the thought of Lance shooting him once more on _purpose_. But he also couldn’t deny that he felt he might deserve it.

And, fuck, that made those tragic blossoming feelings of warmth that much more impossible, that much more likely to shrivel up and die. But they seemed obstinate and no matter how much pain he was in, they refused to go away. Like an especially stubborn candle flame on a birthday cake of misery; which was a very overdramatic analogy but it was still true.

It didn’t help that he knew exactly who left food in front of his door every day.

It only made him feel all the guiltier.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

It was the third day since what Lance was now calling “The Incident” and he still couldn’t find it in himself to knock.

He left a large plate of Hunk’s specialty by Keith’s door, biting his lip as he left and ignoring the swirl of hurt and confusion the sight of the locked door left in the pit of his stomach.

He heard the soft click of it opening as he turned the corner, but he didn’t dare to look back.

The food was gone by morning.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith flinches every time he hears footsteps approach his door. He knows who it is. He’s seen Lance walk away from his door for three days in a row already. He hears the stuttered inhalation and he can almost feel the hesitation as Lance takes a moment to loiter outside his room. He doesn’t know why Lance stops for that brief little moment, but he’d be damned before he ever has to courage to open the door and ask. He hears the _thunk_ of the plate being settled on the ground and he buries his face in his blankets in shame.

He can’t face Lance. He can’t face the team at all. But he especially can’t face Lance.

He opens his door a crack and watches Lance’s stiff back turn around the corner and he hates himself all the more for his cowardice. But he’s a monster down to his core and he’s better off this way anyway. They all are.

Eventually they’ll have to form Voltron again, but by then he hopes Allura will have found another paladin to replace him. Yet, the thought sends a spike of pure _hurt_ through his chest. He doesn’t _deserve_ to pilot Red, he _knows_ this, so why is he so upset at the thought of not being the red paladin anymore?

He takes the food goo and closes the door.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance makes it around the corner of the hallway before he leans against the wall and slides down it in defeat. He buries his head in his hands and wished, more than anything in that moment, that he hadn’t yelled at Keith, that he’d never been practicing with his Bayard at all that day. He never wanted to look at a laser gun again in his life.

It was all his fault.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith dreamed most nights. Most days. Nebulous and hazy.

He was filled with wanting, loneliness, and not-quite sensations. His imagination was pounding against its barriers to try to conjure up the feeling, the image, the entirety of a moment, to try and imagine what it must be like. To have _him_ where he has never had _anyone_. He wondered, with near the whole of his being, what it would be like to hold him. To be held. To sleep on clouds of white and bask in the sun of a lazy afternoon.

He could barely feel the warmth beneath his fingertips. The rise and fall of the chest beneath his head. The sound of a beating heart beneath his ear. He could almost imagine the sweet nothings that would be whispered to him on dark nights, could almost imagine the thin fingers gently carding through his hair, could almost, _almost_ , feel the force of the warmth and love that he knows just isn’t really there.

He could never feel it fully and the moment was always shattered. Shattered by purple fur and yellow glowing eyes. Of searing heat against his cheek and hate filled ocean-eyes.

Keith held his pillow closer and dreamed harder than he ever had before that Lance could love him back.

But he knew that was only just a dream.

Day four passed and Keith still refused to open his door. He didn’t take the food that day either.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

That night at dinner no one seemed to want to talk, especially at the sight of Lance despondently picking at his plate of food goo. It’s been very quiet without Keith, which seemed odd because he wasn’t one to usually add to conversation. Keith liked to watch the goings on rather than be the center of attention, but his presence was still sorely missed. Most noticeably by Lance.

Allura was also toying with her food, knowing why Keith was truly holed up in his room. She hated that she’d been the cause of such turmoil and she’d hardly pressed the paladins to train like she should have because of her guilt. But she was at a loss as to how to fix it. She didn’t know if there even was a solution.

Coran took a look around the table and in an uncharacteristic move, asked them all gently, “Does anyone know _why_ our young friend Keith hasn’t been joining us lately?”

Allure and Lance both flinched slightly at the words. Lance more noticeably than Allura.

Everyone turned to him for answers.

“Did you guys get into _another_ fight?” Pidge asked.

Everyone around expected Lance to grumble and huff and explode at the question, like he would in any normal circumstance. Instead he just hunched in on himself and avoided their eyes. He didn’t say a word, but his expression was worrisome.

It looked far too sad and guilty for anyone’s liking.

Shiro was sympathetic. Allura felt even guiltier.

Hunk and Pidge shared a look. They would be planning something, that much was certain.

Lance continued not to eat until he finally dropped his fork without a word and left, taking a spare plate with him, though he felt the action was in vain. Keith hadn’t taken in breakfast that morning. Or lunch.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

The beginning of day five dawned and Hunk and Pidge decided to take matters into their own hands, because this had all gone on for too long. And intervention was needed.

It was extremely early in the morning, so far early in the morning that it might as well still be considered night. But it was the only time that the duo could be comfortable carrying out their mission, as it was the most likely time that Keith would probably be asleep. And he needed to be asleep for this plan that they’d hatched to work at all, mostly so he couldn’t hear their furiously whispered argument right outside his door at the butt crack of dawn.

“How are we even sure this plan is gonna work? What if they just end up accidentally killing each other instead? Oh god, what if we end up accomplices in a double homicide because of this?!”

“Hunk,” Pidge whispered calmly to her panicking friend, “I say this with the most respect possible. But, please, calm the fuck down.”

“Pidge!” Hunk sounded scandalized. “Language!”

Pidge rolled her eyes and continued tapping at her keyboard, trying to reprogram this area of the castleship so it would unlock Keith’s door was already hard enough without Hunk freaking out beside her.

“Pidge,” Hunk went back to worrying, “Pidge, what if we can’t unlock the door? What if we can’t get Lance to get over here? What if it doesn’t work?”

“Listen,” Pidge said bluntly, the reflection of her glasses flashing as she gestured to the holographic keyboard, “You wanna try your hand getting this thing open, _be my guest_.”

Hunk pouted at her tone. “I’m an engineer not a technician.”

“Then hush and go get Lance already. I’m almost done with this and as soon as I crack it we can initiate Phase Two.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Hunk saluted with a small smile, “Time to ninja out and capture the princess.”

Pidge snorted but saluted him back all the same. She really hoped this worked because she really didn’t want to come up with another, more complex plan, and mostly so her friends could be happy again.

She went back to tapping at her keyboard as fast as her fingers could allow.

What felt like only a few seconds later she could hear the telltale click of the lock on Keith’s door opening up and Hunk arrived with what looked like a still-sleeping Lance slung over his shoulder.

Pidge gave him an evil grin and silently opened the door. Hunk smiled back and gently settled Lance back down on the ground, shaking him awake just enough for him to support himself before guiding him into Keith’s room. Lance blinked at him blearily, still not fully awake and definitely not aware of the situation just yet.

“Hun…?” he managed to murmur out before Pidge activated the door again to slide it shut. Firmly locking it and setting a timer for it to unlock in a few hours.

“Enjoy the sleepover!” Pidge sang loudly through the door, hoping to wake up both Lance _and_ Keith. She laced her fingers behind her head and smiled at a job well done, stalking off down the hall and hoping to reward herself with some robot building. Hunk quietly apologized to the door before setting off and following her.

“You think it’ll really work?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I hope so.”

“I think it will,” he said firmly.

Pidge hummed. “Me too.”

They shared a smile and high-fived as they turned the corner.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Lance was barely cognizant of the world around him, much like he was nearly every time he’s woken up in the earliest reaches of dawn after a stretch of fitful sleep. It took him several blinks of his eyes to realize he was no longer in bed, to realize he was no longer in his room, and most importantly to realize what, exactly was just yelled at him through a now locked door.

Slowly he swiveled in place to see the rest of the room, hoping that he wouldn’t find what he thought he might, his brain still trying to process everything going on around him and his body still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

It was dark, shadows draping the room in deep swathes to the point his tired eyes could barely make anything out. But his eyes adjusted and there was just barely enough fluorescent light spilling from the strips running along the walls that he could make out basic shapes, basic figures. He found Keith equally as startled, staring at him with wide eyes from where he’d propped himself up into a sitting position on his bed.

The silence of the room thickened suddenly, becoming sharp with tension, like an instantaneous drop in temperature. Lance and Keith made eye contact but neither of them moved, neither of them breathed.

Keith broke the tension, moving to curl up with his blanket over his head and his back facing Lance, in a bid to try and block out the world. It stung like rejection.

Lance’s heart broke to see his huddled figure, watching as Keith’s shoulders bunched up in a defensive move. Lance’s heart broke to see Keith look so small in the dark of the room. He blamed himself.

“Keith…” He tried to say, his voice still raspy from just waking up. He didn’t feel like admitting that it was also raspy from the guilt and pain now lodged in his throat.

Keith didn’t say a word but Lance could see him flinch.

Lance didn’t know what else to do, his voice failing him, and the sight of Keith in such a defensive position hurt so much. He wanted to make it better more than anything else in the world at that moment.

Lance opened his mouth to say more but felt it snap shut, at a loss for words. How could he ever make it better? How could he ever find a way for Keith to forgive him?

He took a shuddering breath and fell to the floor for lack of anything better to do. Pidge and Hunk had locked him in here, after all, and it would likely be awhile before they’d let him out. And Keith certainly wasn’t up for any sort of discussion. Though Lance didn’t really blame him.

He leaned his back against the wall and brought his legs up to wrap his arms around them. Maybe if he relaxed enough against the wall he could just go back to sleep. Then he wouldn’t have to think about the situation at all and he could just doze away until someone let him out.

Blearily he tracked the path of shadows against the walls, how they looked near identical to the ones in his own room. He felt the strangely textured carpet beneath him where he sat, soft but unforgiving. He noted that the room smelled just like any other part of the castle but for a small hint of something that was distinctly Keith. A scent he couldn’t quite pin down, but it reminded him of wood smoke and particularly hot days lounging in the sand at the beach. It smelled like home and something completely foreign altogether.

He took another deep breath and tried to think. 

There wasn’t anything to think about. He felt stuck. And mostly he just wanted to escape.

He rested his chin against his arms and let the tension of the room drape around him like an oppressive blanket. He wanted to say something. Anything. But he knew Keith wouldn’t reply and the smothering atmosphere of the room made it seem impossible to saying anything at all in the first place.

But Lance was nothing if not stubborn.

“Keith…” His voice nearly cracked but he carried on regardless.

He didn’t see Keith flinch.

“I’m… I’m sorry, you know. I’m really, really sorry.”

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Keith wanted to scream into his pillow, wanted to escape and never look back. He wanted to cry and run and tear out his own hair. But most of all, he wanted Lance to stop apologizing. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t just lay in bed and listen to Lance feel so awful about a thing that seemed so inconsequential to him now. He wanted to comfort Lance and tell him it was okay. But he couldn’t.

Keith knew he was the enemy now and he had no place to comfort someone that would look at him with disgust should he know the truth.

“Please…” and it all hurt to hear. He wanted to run away. To avoid every second of this and just stop thinking about it. “Keith.”

And he broke.

“Not you,” he murmured, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited for the inevitable to unfold.

“Keith?”

“Not. You.” He whispered louder. He couldn’t pull up the courage to say anything else. He just wanted Lance to stop blaming himself already.

“What do you-,” Lance paused and Keith could hear him moving to stand up. He curled in on himself just that much more. “What do you mean, not me?”

“It’s not,” Keith all but growled into his pillow, “your _fault_.”

Lance growled back, “Like hell it’s not my fault! I _shot_ you! Podría haberte matado!”

“An accident,” Keith breathed out through gritted teeth, “You’re forgiven. Go away.”

Lance scoffed, “No. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, idiota. Not until you come out and _talk_ to people… Even if it’s not me,” he added softly.

“Talking won’t _fix_ it!” Keith shouted, spinning around and finally facing Lance head on, all of his anger and frustration, all of his pain, he directed towards Lance. “You can’t fix genetics by _talking it out_ , Lance! You can’t just talk and hope that changes the fact I’m a _monster!_ ”

“Monster?” Lance questioned as he edged his way closer to Keith, “What the fuck are you talking about? I nearly _killed_ you and you think _you’re_ the monster here!?”

“Yes!” Keith was yelling back now, standing to face Lance. He needed Lance to understand! “You don’t get it! You don’t know what this is about! I don’t care whether or not you shot me anymore! So just-,” Keith waved a hand at his door, “Just leave already!”

“It’s _locked_ , tonto!” Lance wanted to scream. He took a deep breath. “I can’t leave and I _won’t_. Not until we’ve talked about this. Keith. If it’s not about me _shooting_ you, then what _is_ it about? What in the _fuck_ makes you think you’re a monster?”

Keith turned away, silent and still, with his back to Lance. His arms curled around his torso and he didn’t say a word.

Lance reached out a hand, all the anger and frustration draining away. Something was very, very wrong here. His hand hovered over Keith’s shoulder, not quite making contact.

“Keith.”

He felt the other man’s shoulder tense up as his hand got closer. Lance pulled away.

“Please. Tell me.”

Keith watched the ceiling with a grimace. He didn’t speak.

Lance sighed, “Fine. Be that way.” Lance crossed his arms and gave Keith’s back a searching look. “But I can tell you, despite whatever the fuck made you believe it, you’re _not_ a monster.”

Keith shook his head. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he said bitterly.

“Because you won’t _tell_ me, estúpido,” Lance snapped. “So spill it already, mopey mullet.”

“Fuck _off_ , Lance,” Keith snarled. “I don’t want to talk about anything, with anyone, least of all _you._ ”

Lance recoiled. “Fine,” he said shortly. “ _Okay_. I get it.”

“Lance,” Keith started to groan, “That’s not it.”

“Then you’re going to have to be a bit clearer on what _it_ is!”

“Fuck,” Keith said slowly, frustration building to the point of overriding everything else as he faced Lance, “ _off!”_

“No!”

Keith growled, deep and guttural, not in the realm of capabilities of a human, and animalistic to the point of sending a shiver down both their spines. They stopped still at the sound. Keith covered his mouth in horror.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Lance asked, staring at Keith.

“It,” Keith whispered, strained.

“What do you mean, _it?_ ” Lance said slowly. “That doesn’t have anything to do with… Dude, you literally just growled, I mean what the fuck? Like, that’s not a sound humans can make? Just what the _hell_ , dude.”

“ _That_ ,” Keith said sharply, turning away again, “the not human part. That’s exactly what I’m upset about! I’m not fucking _human_ , Lance!” He was shouting and gripping his arms around his torso and then he dropped to a pained whisper that a stunned Lance strained to hear. “I’m the _enemy_.”

Lance was silent for a long moment, Keith tensing up further and further as the seconds wore on. Oh god, he’d never meant to tell Lance, never meant for anyone to ever find out about this. He’d barely come to terms with this himself and now he’s gone and spilled this mess all on Lance and _fuck_ , what if Lance was planning on how to get rid of him? What if Lance was preparing to kill him right then and there for the monster he was? Keith’s thoughts spiraled and spiraled into a deeper frenzy of panic before Lance finally broke the silence between them with one simple word.

“Okay.”

Keith whirled around, “ _Okay?!_ ”

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

Keith was rendered dumbstruck, silent. He stared at Lance, unable to say anything, unable to feel anything, unable to process what was happening in that moment at all.

“Listen,” Lance said quietly, taking Keith’s hand and leading him to sit down on the bed and face each other. Keith didn’t flinch away at the contact this time and Lance took that as a good sign. “You’re an alien, not a monster. So what if you’re not human? You’re still _you_. You’re still Keith. And I like Keith,” he stumbled on his words a bit with a blush, but he never looked away from Keith’s widening eyes, “a lot. So much that I was really worried about you, dude. Really worried that you’d never forgive me.”

Lance stared at the light scar that still looked raw on Keith’s cheek. It was such a thin line, nearly unnoticeable. But it was still there, and he’d caused it. His hand lifted stuttering in its course to trace over the scar before dropping in the ensuing awkward silence.

Keith gently picked up Lance’s hand and brought it to his face, tangling Lance’s fingers slightly through his own and shutting his eyes as he nuzzled his cheek into Lance’s palm.

No words were exchanged and the moment was saturated in a sweet silence, each holding their breath and capturing the moment in its entirety. The barely there fluorescent light surrounded them in a dim halo, the sheets beneath their hands other hands were cold to the touch, contrasting deeply with warmth of Keith’s face and Lance’s hand. Lance rubbed his thumb across Keith’s cheek and marveled at the shiver he could feel underneath his palm. Keith felt a smile tremble on his lips and tears gather in his eyes.

“You’re forgiven, Lance,” Keith whispered. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Lance frowned at him and leaned close until their foreheads were touching. “It _was_ a big deal. And I’m still sorry.”

Keith looked away and dropped his hand, “You shouldn’t have to be. You were only doing your job. Shooting a galra.”

“Stop it,” Lance spat, making Keith startle, “You are _not_ a monster. You are _not_ the enemy. You are my teammate. You are a paladin. You. Are. _Keith_.”

Keith could feel the tears overflowing down his face as he stared into Lance’s eyes, serious and stern and oh god, oh god, he couldn’t even tell what he was feeling right then, but it was good.

“Do you understand?” Lance asked softly and Keith could only nod, feeling a sob start to shake his entire torso.

“You are not a monster,” Lance whispered as he tugged Keith down to sob into his shoulder. “You are not the enemy,” he repeated as he tangled his fingers in Keith’s hair. “You’re Keith. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Keith cried harder.

・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

It took a while for Keith to finally stop crying but he felt much better after it all. Lance had his arms wrapped around Keith’s shoulders and Keith had his face still buried in Lance’s neck. Neither of them bothered to move, just basking in the warmth of the other and relishing the quiet moment.

“You know,” Lance said after a while, “I _was_ going to apologize before this whole fiasco started.”

Keith huffed, “So was I.”

“Then I guess we’re even.”

Keith hummed thoughtfully before pulling back and locking gazes with Lance. He drew close, his heartbeat suddenly jumping erratically and a blush creeping on his cheeks before he even managed to say what he had planned.

“There was,” he hesitated, “uh, there _was_ something else I wanted to tell you… too.”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I really, really like you,” Keith tried to say it as quickly as possible, thinking it’d be like ripping off a band-aid. His seizing heart and sweaty palms thought otherwise.

“Oh,” Lance said softly, his eyes wide and his body still. Keith started panicking.

“Oh?”

Lance took a deep breath and Keith prepared himself for the worst, squeezing his eyes shut and praying.

Then he stopped breathing altogether. He could feel Lance getting closer and closer until suddenly he could lips pressing gently against his own. He inhaled sharply as Lance pulled away after the brief touch, his eyes snapping open wide. Lance was smiling at him. Giddily.

“I really, really like you too, Keith.”

“Oh.”

Lance laughed.

Keith collapsed down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling as he let everything run through his head. He felt emotionally drained. But happy. Very happy.

Lance collapsed next to him, his side brushing against Keith’s. “What a day.”

Keith snorted, “Yeah.”

“I’d go to my own bunk to sleep instead of taking up half or yours but, uh,” Lance waved an arm towards Keith’s locked door, “I’m kinda stuck here.”

“S’okay,” Keith murmured, fingers reaching over to clutch at the loose fabric of Lance’s shirt, “I don’t mind.”

Lance reached down and tangled his fingers with Keith’s, smiling all the while. “I guess I’ll stay then.”

Keith hummed and turned to lay on his side, curling up and pulling his comforter to rest over the both of them. Keith yawned. “Do you even know what time it was when they shoved you in here?”

“No clue,” Lance yawned back. “But really early. So it wouldn’t hurt to get more sleep.”

“Oh good,” Keith said sleepily, tempted to yawn again in turn and just barely resisting. His eyelids started to droop. “I can go on ahead and marry my mattress then.”

Lance rolled over to face Keith with a grin, “Duuude,” he said softly, “I totally wanted to marry a table earlier.”

Keith snorted, smiling as he tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders, “We make a good match then, yeah?”

“A perfect one.”

And they slept the morning through, smiles on their faces and hands still curled around the other’s.


End file.
